I admired, I did
by Bergere
Summary: Now she's old, she is to tell the story of these feelings and dreams... The story of this quest. The story of how she worshipped her. "Yes, I thought her, in a deep part of my brain, immortal." Non-slash HG/MM . COMPLETE.
1. Introduction

_Hello everybody!_

_I'm today publishing the last chapter of this fic, and that's why I'm giving it a little fresh air so as to make it - maybe - a little more attractive. Anyway! I'm a french-native speaker, which means I do not master english perfectly at all, and pray, don't be too... well, of course tell me if I do some really awful thing, but I swear I do the best I can! Hope my use of the language won't bother._

_This was my very first fic' in English, and I'm afraid I won't write any other (at least other than OS) unless some miracle occures. However, I hope it's not too bad. It is just some idea that popped in my mind one day, and I must admit it's not link-less with my own personal life. Anyway.. this is about Hermione, and through her mostly about Minerva McGonagall. No slash, no love story (yeah, I know...) It's a psychological kind of story.  
_

_Guess what? I don't own a single character! _

_Have a nice read, and I hope you'll enjoy!_

_Bergère._

**Introduction **

Have you ever tasted desperation? It's a very bitter taste, a taste like the one of defeat… It's a kind of defeat after all. If you don't know the taste of it, then, don't ever try to find out. It's so horrible, full of a sadness in which no pity has lasted. The ones who know it might feel their heart beating, trying to forget how horrid this feeling was, how impossible it was just to accept the fact it's the end…

No! what's difficult is to accept that it's not the end, that you can go on, that you have to go on. For Society, for yourself, for hundreds and thousands of reasons you don't give a damn at right now. Whatever, the knowledge of the life beating in your heart and going on with your blood running all over your veins becomes more accurate day after day. No, you can't stay in that desperate way and you can't be a _nothing_ for the rest of your poor years. You thought –and after all were quite glad to- that now, the kiss of a dementor would just have no use, for your heart has gone, and your mind is just dead, so much destroyed that nothing is to come and save it.

But that is just what you thought, and that was wrong.

You don't want to come back to real life; you don't want to come back to happiness. But, like a boat whose direction is not the one you would like it to take, you walk, step by step, in the direction of the door. This door, it's the way out of your bad feeling, the entrance in the normal, simple, happy, unbelievable world you don't want to come back in. And that is because you know that once back, you'll never accept to live in desperation again; you'll never respect that feeling again.

I did feel it. I did. It was… horrid and terrible. I felt the knives of consciousness destroying my psychological flesh. I thought it was the end. It wasn't, and when, by force, I had to get out of the nasty feeling, I grow happy again, I found out how life was nice, I forgot.

I forgot a bit too much, that is what I think. Today, it's late, my life is over, or if it isn't, it should be. It's not because I have a heart beating that life truly is here. But that is complicated, that happens to be later, many years after what I want to talk about. I don't know why I'm writing. I think it's because… Well, now loneliness has come to me again, the huge remembrance I keep is… too big to be kept, too heavy to fly away from my dumbfounded heart. It tells me too much about how much we finally accept everything, in life; or if not everything, nearly everything.

_Once upon a time…_ Yes, I would like so much to be able to begin this story like this. I would like so much to be authorized to do so… Authorized? Is that what you think? Well, I would understand it quite well, it even makes me smile. It's not some paperwork that prevents me from doing this, from beginning up this personal story as if it was worth a fairy tale. It's my own person, my own brain, and in it the remembrance of the person I am to talk about, of the respect I had for her, which stops me. It is too full of feelings to be told like this, with so much… emphasizing. I would just feel guilty to transform any of it into something wrong, into something just different from truth, from what really happened. Well… from what really did _not_ happen… That is the whole thing. And this thing, I have to respect it.

Beginning… I have to begin it… It's the most difficult thing ever; beginning this. I know that once the first sentence, the first phrase, written, everything will go on, words will flow like a deep and easy river, eager to conquer more and more land, eager to tell the story, to split it all away, and then live in peace again, forever. Forever is a big word, but… it's the one I choose. And that's not the point. I need to find the first word, and then…

I've seen a lot of burials, too much… Yes, I've seen so much, from my early childhood… Childhood maybe not, youth at least: I've seen them from my very youth. War is war; the wizard world is the wizard world. What do you want to say more? When a devil man decides to be more powerful than anyone else, when he accepts to use dark arts to get what he wishes, when he has no problem with destroying everything to get to his goal, then… Well, then your life has much chances to be everything but normal, and more precisely, you must be aware of one fact: your life, this good you love more than anything else, your life as well as anyone else's, is in danger. You shall die tomorrow, but maybe you have 50 years left… And that is the same for all the persons you know, all the ones you love, you like…

This particular burial is the one that affected me most. Could not talk about it, I could not… It was just impossible for me to accept the actual person resting under this marble stone was dead, and even when I understood it, I felt it was impossible for me to express what had happened in my heart. That was true since a few weeks ago, and here I am, trying, with my old hand covered with marks of the passing years, to fix these ideas coming from the past, to let this pain be printed by the dark ink on the paper, to have this story be mine, truly, and not only a pale and vague memory.

So, this burial was for me an intense pain, and here is the reason why: this person, these rests that some brown earth was to cover forever, it had never come to my thoughts that they were to disappear. I knew of death, I knew and still know of it a bit too much, but it had never occurred to me that _she_, as well as everyone else, was to die and disappear. Yes, I thought her, in a deep part of my brain, immortal.

She was. To me, she was immortal and the idea that I would lost her, lost this image that had been my untold example for so many years, that I had always been far from knowing, was just an impossible dark joke, and it was just not to happen. It happened, however, and the day I received this little piece of paper, I just didn't realize, I lied to myself, I said it was another death. I was at the same time trying -without having conscience of doing so- to erase what had linked her to me in the past (and partly in the present, but this I tried not to remember). It was successful a few days… it was successful until we –I mean my husband, my children, and I- disappareated to Hogwarts, until the day of the funeral, a day I thought too early of course. It was successful until it came and hit me like a bullet from a muggle gun.

Yes, the day of professor McGonagall burial –I spent years refusing to give her any other name, using this "professor" even when my own children were no more students, unable that I was to call her Minerva, to call her Mrs…- was terrible to me, as it would have been, I assume, to any other person having had the same psychological mood as I had. As I still have? This I'm not full of wisdom enough to say… not old enough maybe, or just unable to separate myself from the feelings I had and do a good analysis, one of the ones why she had such a high opinion of me, a high opinion I whished I could deserve during my student years, even after. This day was just the moment when all the pain I had hidden in every little part of my brain and heart choose to get out and make me suffer. It was the equivalent of one of the three spells you shall never use, one of the ones I had had to use, but it was not hurting my body, it was hurting my mind, thoughts and feelings. It was just a big pain of understanding.

_So? What did you think of it? Just tell me._

_Thanks,_

_Bergere!_


	2. The Burial

_Hi again! so here is what comes next. Hope you'll enjoy. And then again, just review :)_

_Have a nice read, _

_Bergère.  
_

**The burial**

So, this burial was terrible. Here it is: we entered the big castle, talking in little whispers, as we felt overwhelmed by feelings, by memories of the past. Our childhood was so far away, these seven years that had been the most dangerous, the most foolish, and the most interesting years of my life. Being back here again, when we hadn't since I don't know how many years, was strange and agreeable, and I couldn't help smiling while we entered the great hall, with its ceiling so high you can't even imagine how far away it is, with its grey stones which had been laying still for hundreds of years…

At this moment, I was still lying to myself. I just had done everything not to think of her. Ron, by my side, was much more interested in our school-years forbidden actions, talking about the invisibility cloak, the marauders map which had been (whatever how much I had protested against it when Harry had got it) a great help for us, the kitchen with the nice house elves… all this. When we pushed the enormous wooden door, we saw the five big and long tables, one for each house, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, and in the very background, the teachers' table. The place was empty, and even if it was mid-June, and almost the middle of the day, there were candles floating in the magical sky. There were no nice decorations, and the black pieces of fabric were the first thing that made me come back on earth. Yes, she was dead. I thought it, but my mind needed some hours more to get rid of its own lies, and then understand.

When I began taking a look with more attention, I noticed that the lights were just a minimum, that every table was covered in a dark silk tablecloth, with, at an equal distance every time, a big white candle which seemed to be burning in a religious silence. With a gesture of the hand he understood perfectly, I asked my husband to stop talking: the castle itself, from its very walls to the magic ceilings, from the highest tower to the lowest dungeon, from the corridors to this very dining room, was mourning Minerva McGonagall. My heart suddenly beating in my chest, because he was now aware of the fact, I put my hand on Ron's and stayed still as he respected my silence (and the castle's one).

That's when it really began, the remembrance, the pain.

Our kids, who were both adults now, and Rose had even a nice fiancé who was a muggle-born charming young man she had met at Hogwarts, were waiting for us in the outside and taking a walk all around the lake. I felt glad about this, for these moments were barely mine and Ron's. He was one of the rare persons whose presence did not disturb me in such a moment of reunion with the old castle, the past moments of my youth… And, soon, the remembrance of my true pain linked to Minerva McGonagall would hit me, and for this, even Ron, Harry or Ginny would be unable to help me. None of them know, they never knew, and I think I can swear they have never known or will never.

Whilst I was glancing at the large room, and that my heart and mind were beginning to enter their own dark dresses of mourning, the sound of fast steps came to me, and when I turned my head, I saw Harry. Whatever how bad I was now beginning to feel, I couldn't help smiling and I ran at him. Of course, we met very often, even now, years after the death of Voldemort, but meeting him here made me feel… I don't really know. I felt so near him, we were more friends than ever, and the castle in which both of us were standing just helped us being so near. The souvenirs were here to give more strength to the link between the three of us. We talked. About everything, about anything, maybe we just repeated the same things, once, twice... This was quite funny, maybe, I don't remember. I remember it lasted until Neville, who had been deputy headmaster during Minerva McGonagall's years as the heiress of Dumbledore in Hogwarts, came to tell us we were needed. That's when all kind of pleasure that day ends up. This, I'm sure.

We followed him, and as I was walking past the paintings in which all the characters seemed to be abated by a strange form of sadness, I felt a flow of melancholy overwhelming me. Yes, I was now going to go down, step by step, in a new kind of Hades' hell. Neville led us to the lake where there were already some persons forming a small crowd in which I knew my children were standing. We finally stopped, and while telling us not to go too far away because he would maybe need us, our former classmate took place in front of the whole group and using a simple spell, transformed his voice into another one you could hear quite as far as he needed it to.

He talked.

There was a speech. Neville was not like those pretentious men who are proud to speak, during a funeral, of anything they like, linking it to the dead body not far away with much disdain by the use of big words that don't make sense: "glory", "one of the great of her time", "whose name is to be remembered." Of course, none of these pompous men think a word of what they say, and their behaviour is just a mark of a total lack of respect towards the one who for this deathly prayer is supposed to be. Neville is none of that kind. However, the minister of magic at that time had too much verve to keep it for himself, and we had to listen to these exact words that lose all their meaning whilst bad used.

Finally, he explained as fast as possible, as if the subject burnt his lips, why he had authorized her to rest here. The ridiculous phrases he used with a conceited look just meant her years of serving here, her devotion and etc meant she deserved this honour. That's when I lost my nerves, when the tomb suddenly became a block of white marble, for now she was away forever.

I cried. Ron was just behind me, his expression was full of sadness, but he could keep his emotions for himself. I couldn't. I let the tears fall from both of my eyes, burning my cheeks as if they were meant to make me remember how much she was absent, how much I had admired her, how much I had been a silly girl. I felt guilty, and from that day I felt guilty every single day… today I still do, or at least I know of that feeling. I cried when she became nothing but this stone, I cried when Ron took my hand and pressed it very gently against his, I cried when Neville tried to ask me if I could follow him inside for he needed me. I just couldn't help this long and painful expression of my feelings, and when they saw I just answered none, I saw my husband's and my former classmate's looks meet, and they nodded at each other while taking my arms to drive me back inside the castle.

I assume none of them understood why I was that sad, why I couldn't stop these tears, why I was that overwhelmed by this particular death, when I had accepted the fact that well (I did not cry when we received the paper). It didn't bother me, because I actually couldn't feel anything at this single moment. I remember a glass of whisky, Ron's hand chasing tears away from my cheeks and whispering words that he hoped could comfort me; and I remember how dark the sky was becoming to be when my eyes dried up the tears and I could hear and even answer what was told to me. I could still feel the depressing sadness and pain in my heart, but at least I was no more a wrecked mind. Sometimes, for a few seconds, I felt I was to fall in tears again, but then didn't. And, with whisky, tee, biscuits (they were actually making me feel even worse for Minerva was fond of ginger biscuits, she used to ask you if you wanted one) and little things of that kind, I finally could follow Neville, Harry and some administrative men from the ministry, supported by Ron who was not asked to come, but whose dark look in direction of these "officials" admitted no answer.

Yes, it was a terrible moment for me that this burial; I now know I was the only one so full of pain. Hatred towards life which authorized such things as the death of Minerva McGonagall came later, but during the ceremony, it was depression, the very beginning of it. And, actually, this was very simple, nothing compared to what I was to suffer when remembering her, I, Hogwarts, the past, her past and then mine, for I knew there was no "our" about this past. Oh, yes, some things had come to my mind while I was crying… It was just the certitude I had had for years that she was kind of immortal which was now destroyed, and in my heart there was an empty place, the one that had been occupied by the dead woman who was buried that day.

_Here it is :D_


	3. Minerva McGonagall's will

_Here we go for the 3rd chapter!_

_Yours, Bergère._

**Minerva McGonagall's will**

I entered the big room in which I had spent much more hours that what was usual for students. But Harry was not a usual student, and being his closer friends explained why Ron and I were kind of un-classical students too. That's in that place that we had tried to talk to Sirius in our 5th year, this same room was the one where Harry had spoken much with the former headmaster, Dumbledore. I sighed, and I felt another tear rushing to my eye and then staying there without even going out when I thought it was also the place where professor McGonagall had been ruling the school for something like two-dozens of years.

I didn't even think it was strange that there were so many comfortable chairs and armchairs in this nice but dark place and sat down next to Ron. We weren't much, and when Neville closed the door, with, on his face, the shadow of sadness, I could feel other tears in my eyes. Yes, I survived thanks to what I had drunk, and I was in a kind of other myself, a mind which was another of mines had taken the place of my usual one. The world itself was different. That's the reason why I could be standing (I was sitting but…) there and listen to the explanations. I did not understand much, words were rushing into my brain, and it was too much for it: it took me several minutes to understand that all this was about the will. At first, I was not even astonished by the fact they needed me for this, I was too dumbfounded for this: I took conscience of it only when they explained what was in that will, and when everyone's sight stayed on my tired face.

Here is the will. I don't know if there's everything, for I got a copy of it later on, and they did not really want me to get one, restive as they were. I assume they did not like what was in it, and I'm pretty sure that if Neville hadn't fought much to keep it until I came, it would have disappeared easily… or maybe she had put a spell strong enough so that they abandoned to destroy it: I have to admit I like this suggestion, it suits to the idea I always got of her. I don't really know if it's a good idea to put this administrative paper in this, but maybe it'll give me more strength to go on, or give more strength to whatever I explain. So sad we wizards don't use photocopies: the paper I have in none of her writing.

_I, undersigned Minerva McGonagall, current headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, member of the Order of the Phoenix, swear I do write this will by myself, and am not on power of any curse or force that would oblige me to go against what I resolved to write over there. _

_All my goods shall be given to any heir you find, son or daughter of a cousin or uncle or whoever, no distinction made because of the "quality" of their blood and their ability to do magic. I don't know myself any heir of that kind, but on this particular point I have confidence on the ministry and am sure they'll find this person (or these) if she does exist. In the case there would be absolutely no one (and even if this would be strange), I want my house to be sold and the galleons given to St Mungo' hospital, in researches to prevent bite people from becoming werewolves. The entire collection of books I possess will be added to Hogwarts' library's collection, whatever if you find an heir or not. _

_I know it's not the time and place to give long explanations about this school and about my life, but I do want to __say how much I wish for Hogwarts, how much it has been a house for me, and I ask humbly the honour of being buried in the very garden of this school worthy of a fairy tale. I'm not a poet, but this place where I spent more than a half of my life shall deserves some poetry…_

Here is the end of the first part of this will. There was nothing much complicated in it, I learnt, while half-listening in my shocked state of mind, that with marriages and all this they had found an heiress nearly as aged as professor McGonagall was, but that was it. I possessed my mind enough to think of her natural generosity. A generosity I had always known but that she was once more demonstrating by this donation she wanted to do, and I knew that the werewolves' case was not chosen by chance, it was because she had known Remus. There was also her loneliness, and I suddenly felt some other salted water coming to my eyes without going throw my closed eyelids. At this point, I was not even asking myself the link between me, Harry, these persons all around, and the will of Minerva McGonagall. I wasn't asking myself many things.

The answer came.

_What I want to add now is more of the last will of an old lady who has confidence in some people more than in others (no offense to you all from the ministry) than what the headmistress of such a school as Hogwarts is ought to say. I am both, and even if it bothers someone, I am to do whatever I want for this time. I wish I could have been stronger in the past. That's why I feel I have to address, now, a few words to Mr Harry Potter._

It was more and more personal, and half-instinctively, I started listening with a bit more attention: I couldn't get much of it, but I did with what I got, and I could understand quite well which I still think was a miracle –I can't help thinking it was a miracle of hers.

_Harry, all I can give you now I leave this life is a thank you I understood I never gave before. And, I have to tell you you've been strong, much more than most men have been and could have been. When professor Dumbledore let me know a bit of his schemes –for they were schemes- I admit I thought a child could not do so much. You did, and it's not being "the boy who lived" that gave you the strength you needed. It's you, your own self and your own mind; you own high level in magical stuff as well. What you did, I don't know if I would have been able to go through it and succeed, and you have to know that you've always been sharing my respect. I can't do much more than give you those pale words (I'm not a poet, I said so). However, there is a little thing I shall give you, and it would please me much if you could take and keep it. My predecessor gave it to me, and you are the one I feel can understand it better. _

It seemed quite strange, but whatever she could write with much simplicity and a kind of modesty, without being poetry, it was very touching. Not far from me, I saw a few tears on Harry's cheeks and understood he had also felt very much the few words she had dedicated to him in her will. I also felt curiosity (that was one of the moments when I was the more awaken and able to take an interest in things) when I saw a box a few inches long, in a dark wooden material, and closed with a little lock of a metal quite rusted by time. One of the men from the ministry gave it to Harry who took it with much precautions and delicacy, unable to know what he was supposed to do with it. He was relieved when the same man added to the box a small key, which he grabbed and used immediately. The lock turned in a little noise while everyone had a quite nervous expression, for no one in the room knew what was in the box, and the general idea was that it was a serious, precious thing.

It wasn't, and for the first time I thought that after all, she was not that different from Dumbledore (his influence maybe) and it made me feel strange. I didn't even laugh with everyone with Harry, after a few seconds of astonishment, laughed himself and said with a smile which was everything but fainted "Chocolate frogs' cards". Now, I believe she had thought it was the exact thing Dumbledore would have given, and that it had a symbolical meaning. Yes, it had some symbolical meaning, and that was because she had decided of it. This idea vaguely hit me and another tear stayed still once in my eyes: she was great.

And here comes the moment which has all its importance when you think of its… Well, I don't really know, but it concerned me, and it's the thing that made me feel so strange for a very, very long time. Just the fact she had thought of me seemed unbelievable, that's partly why I had asked for a copy of the will a few days later, to be sure, but it was true. There was nothing of a dream in it.

_And now, I come to the subject of Hogwarts. Not an easy subject at all, but a very important one I assume… I'm sure actually. This school deserves someone great enough to rule it well and preserve it. I don't know if I were good enough for this, but I hope so, and I surely won't accept anyone as headmaster here, just as the castle will refuse someone it feels doesn't worth it. That is to say I am very determined in the choice I am now making, and I assume you are already aware of the interest I did put on the numerous spells that will prevent you from changing this particular part of the will –more than the rest. _

_I, undersigned the exact same, choose Mrs Hermi__one Jean Granger-Weasley, head of the department of magical-minorities at the ministry, former student of mine, to decide who will be my heir in the ruling of this school. I do this choice with full consciousness of its meaning and importance, and I do swear upon my soul that she is the more apt to do so, by the cleverness she has, and by her very high level in magic as well. I do know this is not going to please the ministry and also that it's to be a very difficult task to accomplish, but Mrs Granger-Weasley already has my full confidence. Her choice is mine, and I know very well she is to do this with much sense and thought: she is to choose Hogwarts' future, and I am glad of it._

_Minerva McGonagall,_

_In full possession of her mind and thought,_

_Headmistress of the__ wonderful place Hogwarts is._

Here is the end. Unbelievable, isn't it? You have my total agreement on this, for I had to spend much energy and self-conviction to accept it wasn't a joke, or more likely a dream. Of course, I had overheard my name in the middle of floating words, but it took me several minutes to end up the puzzle they were making into my mind. Then, I looked with a dumbfounded expression at the man who had read this piece of will, and saw he had a look which was no more surprised (I assume he knew the thing before, it was not his first time reading it) but still full of disagreement. Poor of them, ministry guys, they had no choice and it was more than clear that she had been right once more: this idea did bother them and they liked it none. Myself, I thought nothing. I was prostrated, and it's silent and brainless that I assisted to a short dialogue during which Ron smiled politely at everyone, said we were to send on owl, and drove me out of there. He was followed by Harry, I assume, because then he was here also and he gently whispered nice, painless and meaningless words in my ear while I was laying half-asleep half-crying on the couch and Ron was making some strong tea.

And it's by the power of things and events, because of that very choice she had been doing, that I began remembering, day after day, my past, and more particularly what I knew of hers. I took out from piles full of dust the memories and souvenirs I had, deformed by my brain and my envies; I tried to have them come back with much liveliness. They were one of the rare links I could keep, with the mission she had given to me. I dedicated hours and days to do this as well as possible, to be worth of the task she had been giving me –and with it she had given a deep feeling of duty- and by the way I could be _nearer_ of this admired woman. And, for weeks, I mixed up my remembrances, my mission, my questions about why she had chosen me, my dreams, my hopes, my smiles and hers, my cries and the ones I barely saw her have, my own self…

_Here it is! The beginning of this moment you are all waiting for (ha-ha, so funny… ^^) _

_Well, still, we enter true exploration of feelings, some questions…_

_Thanks, reviews, and… see you!  
_


	4. Letter, first memories

_Hope you like it: our little heroine is now to begin her researches, isn't she?_

_Wish you a good reading! _

_Bergère.  
_

**Letter, first memories**

Needless to tell you I was unable to do anything useful for a few days, so much that Ron finally decided by himself that I had to stay home for a week, and I got holidays for reasons of mourning and 'scholastic' mission. First of all, I lay in my bed one full day, while I was crying again, because the existence itself of this task meant she was not here anymore. No, she wasn't… How could this possibly be true? How could someone authorize something that dramatic? It was worth a Greek tragedy, when a goddess or at least the princess of a decayed kingdom sacrifices herself to save the world. There was no Greece, no god, and no kingdom to be saved. But, in my mind, it was the exact same and I would have been unable to make a proper distinction between the personal feelings I shared in my heart and the universal demonstration hidden in the plays of past times.

I cried a lot, my head lost between my wet cheeks and my warm pillow, my body feeling the pain which was however only psychological. It was not the moment of remembrances; it was a blind sadness, the beginning of my desperation. I was just crying my eyes out, repeating "she's not dead" which just meant I was aware of how true her death was. It was just the first step.

After this first phase, for just like in illnesses, when you go out of them, there are different phases, different steps, I slowly returned to myself and my sense of priorities just as my organized manners made me think it was more than time to begin up the complex task I had to lead to an end. It seemed to be a titanic one, I was very aware of that fact, but that added to its interest. Moreover, if she had chosen me to do this, she really had a great confidence in me, a confidence I had never thought in my deepest dreams she would have. That's how I suddenly became frightened that it was just a dream, and it explains why I asked for the copy of the will and still keep it.

I felt dumbfounded and excited when it began to be absolutely sure it was not a joke, not a dream, and that she had really given me this mission to accomplish. I was proud; my biggest fear was to fail. I couldn't understand why she wanted me to do this, and why she hadn't done it by herself. That's how I started my reflexions, and I saw very easily and shortly that I was not to do all this by myself: there had to be clues, there had to be some help and some explanations… I knew my former teacher would not have let me in such thing without some help.

My first idea had been to go see someone from the ministry, the minister himself if he dared, but my mind was now quite clear and I soon remembered how everything but pleased they all were of Minerva McGonagall's choice. So, I preferred not to talk about this at all, and thought that what was to be important was Hogwarts itself. Moreover, I have to admit that the idea of going back there again had everything to be nice, interesting… As a matter of fact, I really wanted to do so, and because Ron was not against this idea –I still am pretty sure he wasn't that pleased, but could see how important it was to me- I send an owl to Neville and soon got a positive answer. He even seemed to be quite hastened as if he had been waiting for a letter of mine.

But this, it hasn't much to do with professor McGonagall. I apologize much for all these details I am giving, I assume they don't have much interest for a reader from outside the story, but for me it means a lot. It's like I am living these moments again, and they are precious. I am to try to write less on them and concentrate on the subject.

So, I came, I met Neville and I realized that both of us had a very sad expression we couldn't get rid of. I was desperate, I was. In fact, it was quite difficult to see it because I was concentrating on my task and my feelings were for a short moment thrown away. However, they came back very easily, and it's with this coming back to Hogwarts that I began to remember the past. Sometimes, when I was working hard on who –hell it was difficult!– was worth to lead the school, I felt my concentration flying away and some little event came back to my mind. Day after day, I spent more time half-dreaming like this than thinking on what I had to do.

What a pleasure it was to let my thoughts vagabonding from one scene to another, all of the pictures in my head showing her, showing her with me and sometimes without, showing my loneliness and my attachment for her... There was also the numerous ridiculous and childish things I did when I was a schoolgirl, the deep reflexions I had about what I felt for her, about who she was etc. These moments were only mine and it gave me a strength I did not ever thought I shall have. The fact is it's thanks to this that I finally found out what she wanted me to do.

Neville actually had something to give me, and I easily felt that it had been uneasy to keep it as a secret towards the guys from the ministry. What I got was a letter of my former teacher's, quite thin, in a thick envelop on which she had put a spell: I was the only one able to open it, and it made me feel a bit strange, my heart was warm and I felt it beating in my chest. A small smile even took place for a second on my sad lips. I gave Neville part of this smile as a thanks he could see, and while I was already turning back to go out of the castle, he asked me if I wanted to stay a little bit, have a walk in the castle, even go to McGonagall's apartments if it pleases me. I thought this last idea quite unbelievable (and strange, it felt like I was to violate the intimacy of this great woman, or at least break part of the distance there had always been between us both). I finally accepted to stay a few more hours, and even had a little laugh when I told him he could let me alone, for I was not to lost myself… my years of walks outside at night had let me some deep memories! I preferred not to speak again about this idea of going into _her_ apartments, and as he did not mention it again, I left the room and began taking a walk into the corridors, moving stairs…

Of course, my path leaded me to the entrance of the common room of Gryffindor and I greeted the lady in the portrait. She seemed to recognize me, and I understood I had made a huge mistake when she began talking and talking in a deep uninterrupted flow. I was however saved by two kids who could not be in more than 2nd year and whispered the password while looking at me with a strange expression they hoped would be invisible. I gave them a try of a smile and entered into the room just after them. I knew no one would be bothered by this. It was 10a.m., and most kids were in class. For me, it was a step back into the past and I sat into a sofa, in front of the mantelpiece. And I nearly fell asleep. Too many memories, I had tears in my eyes and when I opened them, I saw it was 11 already. I suddenly felt it was time to open the letter and for this there was no better place than between some arbours in front of the lake, where I used to sit with Harry and Ron.

Once seated alone, I looked at the letter in my shaking hand. I felt my heart was just overwhelmed by too many sensations, and with my fingertips I stroked the paper, and was astonished for a moment when I saw the envelop opening itself with a small sound and a few instants of yellow light and then remembered I was the only one able to open it. I trembled a little while opening the letter itself and preparing me to read what it contained. You guess quite easily how excited I was when I began reading the message, and I actually felt quite dumbfounded once more, as I read it: I was to remember half of these sentences by heart because I then read it again and again until I was totally penetrated by its sense and could let it and think by my own.

_Dear Hermione (hope it doesn't bother you to be called that way…),_

_I expect you are quite… astonished at least by th__is task I give you. I'm not going to lie: it's hard, it's complicated, it will need a mobilization of many human and intellectual capacities… However, I swear upon my soul that you are very able to do this and I want you to be as sure as I am. This is none of an advice, it's an order, and I use my former authority as teacher of yours to oblige you to do so: I hope it will help, or at least convince you, for you really need to have self-confidence. _

_I thought, and something makes me feel deeply convinced that this idea is quite good, that __you shall like some help, some… clue. I don't like what professor Dumbledore used to do, but I swear that I can't give you a positive and exact answer to the question: who do you have to choose? I think I know you well enough, Hermione, to know that you are to be –if you are not already- tortured by this question. Don't be, and things will do whatever they have to do. I am pretty sure you are going to find, and if you don't find easily, at least you will have learn a lot in this experience._

_However, in case you shall not find, I am to put some spell on the castle so that when one month has past since you got this letter, he will give you the answer. Don't be silly and look astonished: you know __Hogwarts, a History__ as well as I do and you know that the numerous spells he has makes him able to find out who is its own headmaster. It's just like the Sorting Hat, but there's no word, and there's no sorting out of houses and names. Normally, Hogwarts is not supposed to reveal who is to rule it, but I think I made my thing pretty well: if time goes by too fast and you don't find (or think you didn't!) then you'll get the answer._

_So, this is not because I believe you are unable to find, but because I want you to be everything but stressed out. You can do it, so just be self-confident, do whatever you think you have to do, and it'll be perfect._

_Maybe I shall stop here, but… well, I actually am not, so… __the only advice I can give you, is to read in your thought and in you conscience before going and read a book or ask people to find the answer. __You know the person you are looking for…_

_I think I am to stop,_

_Wishing you much luck and happiness,_

_Minerva McGonagall._

And here it was. I felt quite strange about this fragment of the sentence she had bared (as a matter of fact, "You know the person you are looking for" had been quite erased) and this action of trying to avoid me from seeing something made me feel quite curious. I was like this for at least ten seconds and then I began crying. For one month, I was to cry much, for one reason or another, because while looking for the person she wanted me to find, I remembered past moments. And this past moment made me feel deeply the pain of her death. I did cry, and that is because I suddenly thought of my first day at Hogwarts… this day when I was sorted at Gryffindor, a day that allowed me to know her much, to… I am nearly to sob even now. And I don't even find it ridiculous, because it's just a feeling. Feelings are not to be hidden… Oh! I admit I am saying so and until today no one has really heard of what I felt for her, but it's… different. Maybe it's because that feeling is so deep that I feel it would be like a betrayal to let people know about it: I am very jealous about my feeling.

So, with this letter that I was holding in my shaking hand, I cried for a minute, maybe more, and then I swept my tears away from my cheeks in a limp movement of the hand. I closed my eyes, hugging myself with both of my arms to warm my body and protect it from the little wind which was blowing all around. I saw the first picture of the souvenir, and without even trying to resist, I entered it as if it was a pensieve, but it was just a part of my brain.

It was September, it was cold in the outside, and I was a little silly and questioning eleven-year-old girl, muggle-born, entering a great school of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Hogwarts. I knew much about it, I actually knew much more than every other kid around me. Maybe I had read that much because I wanted to… I don't really know, not to look too ridiculous by knowing nothing, not to be too surprised. Funny… I was just as dumbfounded as the other kids around me. The castle was so big and awesome from these little barges on the lake. How could anything be so pretty, so… unbelievable? It seems quite funny to know I wondered about such a thing when I now know every little place by heart –partly thanks to the Marauders' map.

But, on that particular first day, I knew nothing. Every little piece of wall I saw was a discovery which was worth the discovery of an Egyptian palace. We were following Hagrid as if he were our only way to survive and reach this idyllic place (I did idealize at that time) in front of us. At least, it's quite what I felt, because now it's very far away, and I assume even that day, when I cried, the remembrance was blurred. We walked upstairs, and finally, we stopped in a kind of hall in front of an enormous wooden door.

That's where I saw Professor Minerva McGonagall for the very first time. I like very much to remember this moment as a kind of sudden shock. That is not, and what I now feel towards her –or towards her memory, but I hate to remember this- has been built day after day. No, this moment is the first day I saw her, but it's not as strong and ecstatic as I would like it to have been. What I thought of her? That she was strict, that she was tall, and that I shall keep quiet, just in case. Did I feel something more? I'm afraid the first few seconds, minutes, the answer is to be negative.

When she said my name, "Hermione Granger", I knew what I had to do, and walked as fast as possible to the seat. Once the hat on my head, I stayed still, frightened, seeing these hundreds of pairs of eyes on me. Maybe it wasn't very long, but I felt it was lasting hours. "Where shall I put you…?" The hat seemed to wonder. I thought I was not authorized to say what I thought, so I remained silent and it went on. I wanted to be at Gryffindor. At that time, I was not aware of who was the Head of this House… I like to think it was a sign from destiny, but I'm afraid it was not. "Very clever, that is not possible to doubt… Ravenclaw would suit you well but…" It paused for a moment and I felt my heart beating: I was pretty sure it was not to send me in that house. Where then? "…there are things in your heart and in what you want that I can't deny. That means… GRYFFINDOR" I heard it reasoning in my ears, and while putting the hat back on the stool, I saw this tall and rude woman giving me a glance that seemed to be… nice. I smiled, a great and big smile, and as fast as I could, I walked to reach what was to be my table for 7 full and great years.

That is when I think everything began. It began with her look.

I left the memory very slowly while coming back to present reality. It was so strange, and at the same time it was warming my heart. Seeing her, even here, made me cry (I was again) but… I could see her, remember her look, admire her… This I had never stopped, but seeing her was so much stronger.

I looked around me, took a decision, and said goodbye to Neville before disapparating. Back home, I sigh with relief: no one was home. I run upstairs, and pointing the top of a cupboard I said two spells to disable my protections. I was then able to do an _"accio"_ and very soon found myself with a box in my hands. I took a letter and then pushed the box itself and what it still contained under my bed. It was my first letter from Hogwarts, the one that explained me I was a witch. That was important, of course, but more than anything, it was from professor McGonagall. The green ink had come out from a pen she was holding, it was her writing on the paper, and it was her words. I slowly touched the letters, drawing each word with my fingertips and breathing very deeply. That had been even before, and I was now keeping the letter because of her and not because of the school. It seemed I was a schoolgirl having her first rush: it had, and still has, nothing to do with this. Finally, after remaining silent with my eyes closed, I opened the box again, and after hesitating a long minute, put the letter back in it, but let the box under the bed. I was not to look at the rest now, but I knew, I felt that I was to explore the box again during these 30 days I had to accomplish the most difficult task ever.

_So? What did you think?_

_I thank my reviewer hermin22 and all the other ones that read what I write!_


	5. Making lists, remembering successes

_So, here we go: one chapter one, and out story goes on!_

_Have a fine read, _

_Bergère._

**Making lists, remembering successes**

And I began.

The first things I did were lists. And the first one, that I was to keep all along my researches, was the one listing the elements I had, what I knew, what was to help me. For the moment, I just had _'Professor McGonagall's letter; my own brain; maybe the objects I kept in the box' _I was to complete it day after day, until the day I knew it so well by heart that it became tedious to write things I had already understood and used to find something else. However, at that point, these things were everything I had, and I was to try to get as much information as possible out of them. That was uneasy, or at least… complicated. How to sort out what was useful and what wasn't when I barely knew what I was looking for?

I knew very well my brain was not to be a very sure source, quite changing, but I was also convinced that I would have to think intensely to find out, and she wanted me to be self-confident… So, I never erased it, but I was not to use it by now, or not much… I would think, of course I would! But it was not going to be useful in itself. The box was very full, and to me it meant quite a lot, but with no surprised, that was not very interesting for researching someone to rule Hogwarts. Day after day, I finally understood its only interest was that it was plunging me into the past. That is to say the only thing I had was the letter I had just read. And in it, what was to help me was just this sentence she had half-suppressed. I knew the person I was looking for… I was very perplexed about what I could do with it, and finally it clearly appeared to me that I just had to look for someone I knew, and not a stranger. That was a good point.

All the time I spent thinking in this with much method, I just prevented my feelings from rushing into my heart. I was pretty well concentrated, and for a few hours, I was just thinking in this, just forgetting why I was doing this: because she was dead. I know it's recurrent. It was already at that time. The fact is everything was all right until I took a piece of paper, some dark ink and a pen, and then stayed still, lost in thoughts, trying to find out who was maybe worth this job. It was difficult.

Have you ever tried to do an exhaustive list of the good persons when you have no idea of the people you can choose? Well, it's exactly what I felt. Every name seemed ridiculous when I murmured it to myself, and I hesitated for a few long minutes with the pen pointing at the paper without touching it. Suddenly, without thinking much, as I was quite asleep on my seat, I felt I had the name, and whilst writing it I sighed and stopped with only a few letters… _"Miner…"_ It was depressing! Because I was not concentrated enough, I had forgotten she was dead, I had forgotten Dumbledore was dead something like thirty years ago. While beginning to cry again, I deliberately put an ink stain on the name I was to write, before crumpling it with a sad movement and erasing the paper. Why?

I thought I was obsessed, I thought I would never be able to accept she was dead. Yes, of course, she was perfect as headmistress… as a matter of fact she had been for a large amount of years! I felt I was ridiculous, and before thinking in it again, I let all my tears flow away and was drawn up into my memory.

At that moment, holding my head between two half-shaking hands, I saw, just like in the teaser of a movie you've already watched, some past scenes. They were all related to my former successes as top-student at Hogwarts, which meant –to me- Minerva McGonagall's top-student. They were not long pieces of memory, but often one minute or two, when she had seemed to be proud of me and of my work, when I had felt (and I wasn't used to it) I could deserve a bit of her kindness. These were rare instants of complete happiness that I used to share in my heart all day long. They gave me strength to go on, I was eager to learn more and more, I was brave…

First of all, I remembered the first Transfiguration class we had, when she became the cat her animagus' form was. That day, I was awfully impressed, I was dumbfounded. Oh! Yes, I am quite sure it is part of the explanation why I admired her that much: the two first times I saw her, I was impressed by her aura and her capacities. To me, she was the most powerful witchcraft ever, and all over the years I kept this fervour on her, even when I met Dumbledore's power. Well, and I was so absolutely fan of her and her capacities (at that time I knew none of her human qualities and her generous heart) that I took this decision that still leads me a bit: I was to prove her I was interesting, I was to try to reach her high and incredible level. Quite difficult to do so now she's dead… Of course, I was pretty sure it was impossible, but I felt please to have such a goal. At that time, I wouldn't have believed someone explaining me how much she was to be important in my life… So, when she said we had to transform the little object in front of us into a needle, I listened more than carefully to her clear and plain explanations, and it was a duty to me to be the first one able to do so. First success, first pleasure… Her smile, a little and discreet one, but half of a smile after all, when she saw the perfect little metallic tool on my desk, the little thing in her eyes showing she was proud and a little surprised by my promptness, were eternal gifts to me, and I kept them forever. They still have their honourable place in my heart, these first marks of a kind of tender affection towards the one who succeeds.

Then immediately after, I bounced, into my memory, from this first class in September to the day after we had ended up the tests for our OWLs: I was worried about them. That was partly because of my instinct of top student who for it was strange not to have the better grades. But, more than anything, I was afraid of deceiving her. Just the idea of her look, a sad look which would try to comfort me but would also show my failure, her disappointment, when she would announce me I had had an A… or even worse, T (I was having nightmares about a Troll in Transfiguration)! Ron and Harry were having much fun at me, not that they weren't quite stressed out, but because they thought I was just the only one nobody was worried about. Of course I was to get excellent results! I always had… Well, now I know they were quite true, and I admit I was quite ridiculous in my incredible expectation of bad news… But I just couldn't help it.

That day, just a few days before all of us left Hogwarts for summer holidays, I was once more talking again and again about what I had done, what I had written, explaining with questionable arguments that I had failed. I was so concentrated on my ridiculous words that I went on talking while walking in front of Professor McGonagall's desk and taking a seat. I understood it only when I felt her eyes on me, and turned my head, now completely silent, to see her glancing intensely at me. Oh! Everything; I would have given everything, anything, to escape from this feline look and its meaning. She was deceived; she could now see my incapacity… Nicely enough, the memory didn't stop itself there. I saw, in a few seconds, the full hour of desperation I faced, and then, back to normal speed, I saw the moment the ring did its ordinary sound, and in my ears, it was nearly the true sound of her voice asking me to stay a few minutes. Years after, the remembrance was still strong, so strong I couldn't believe it. Now, I could cry, but the image I had, what I felt, were the thoughts of a young girl self-convinced that she was to be punished by the person she admired most. The biggest punishment was this person's disdain towards me, a disdain I felt I deserved.

So, when I walked and reached the desk beside which she was standing, I felt I was going to die, I felt I would cry again and again, in front of her, losing all sense of dignity. However, without even expecting to keep some of her nice concern, I put my whole energy into a last effort: she shall not see my desperation. She looked at me with her deep and intense sight, fixing my poor eyes with hers, and then told me, with this tone of voice she had when she was coming into something a bit less scholar : _"You essay on the animagi was very well done, Miss Granger."_ I stayed dumbfounded and quite desperate: this was exactly what I was so afraid of, what I just didn't want to happen. She was trying to comfort me –so generous of her! - before announcing the bad news. She wanted me to think I was still quite a good student, to believe she wasn't unhappy about it. Again, I thought I would cry, but I didn't. I nodded with an expression which was meant to be a smile but wasn't, and walked to the door. As I was stepping out, she said to me, with this other look she had, meaning she knew what your reaction was to be: _"Oh… and I'm not supposed to tell you, but you got a O grade in Transfiguration… they were quite impressed."_ She said no more, she added not a word on what she personally thought; she just had a minimum smile which meant so much to me.

Oh! Once out of the room, I thought I was to dance, I thought my heart was to go out of my chest for he was beating too hard. She had felt my sadness, and she had had confidence in me. She just had explained to me, with not a word, that she was kind of proud of my work. I was more than glad, I felt so bloodily happy that Ron and Harry didn't understand why I was then so happy, even when I told them about my grade. None of them could understand why her opinion meant so much to me. Even that day, in front of my empty piece of paper, I remember a little and pale smile drawn on my sad face. And even now I feel my heart warm when I think of it. Yes, at that time already, in my 5th year, and until now, she had an enormous place in my heart, a terrible importance. This day, when I was so afraid of failing, and that it was, finally, a success, I was really happy. We use _happiness_ all day long as if it didn't mean much. Oh Merlin! Of course it means much… and that is in all its strength that I use this word: happiness…

But, I had just felt this happiness overwhelming me again, that I jumped to another moment, I was just in the past again, even before. That was the beginning of the 3rd year, when she gave me the Time-Turner. I was so proud, so glad I could deserve this… it seemed so unbelievable to me that she had worked so hard –I knew it was not easy to be found- to get me this little object. As she was explaining me how it worked, which I knew already, and so did she, I thought it so incredibly great and perfect. She had enough confidence in me to lend me such an object, to let me try out. I looked at her; she was very serious, as always, her expressions only showing concentration, because what she was telling me was quite important, because, even if she knew I wasn't going to play with time and change the past, it was true the subject was delicate. However, I knew, or at least I hoped but was quite sure, that she was actually glad to give me this chance, to have me be even better a student than what I was already. The smile she prevented from being visible on her face, I could understand it by the little light shinning into her eyes. And, if not very glad about this confidence she had, this look she had would just have been enough for me to feel pleased. So awfully pleased that, with both of them, I danced all the way back to the tower. Oh! Yes, I felt it just like a success, I had proved her I was worth the attention she did –for she did! – gave me.

But that was still not the end. Then, I just saw a succession of little scenes, like magical pictures: some days, different ones I was mixing up, taking one year for another. What was important in these was just her smile, or at least her words, their meaning, their kindness. The days she gave me my marks before the others because she knew I was waiting for this, and because I was glad to get the information rightly from her; the nice number rezoning into my ears with the sound of her voice. I didn't need to remember them precisely, because what was important was the feeling I then shared, the smile she had, the tone of her voice, the look in her eyes, the movement of the head she did when talking to me… All this together is what I call a deep memory.

And, to end up with these memories, before coming back to the present reality of my researches in names, I did another jump in the past, and saw, once more, the scene after Harry defeated Voldemort. Oh, not just after, but a few days after I assume… I don't remember when exactly. We where at Harry's home (even if he was still naming the place Grimauld Square, or Sirius' house) and the members of the Order we knew well were all here. Of course, we were both happy excited, and depressed: too many dead friends, too many people to mourn… That was a high price to pay for freedom, and Tonks' and Remus' souls were still very deeply present into our minds. What I remember is that, that day, Minerva McGonagall entered the place and seemed calmer than she had ever been since Dumbledore's death I assume. Her face was peaceful and her bright eyes were shining again. Not much, but a little bit. She even gave me the beginning of a difficult smile when she saw me, and it gave me some strength. I also need some comfort, and Ron was quite unable to do so, which I understood. His brother's death was still very present in his mind. We ate, and we finally laugh, all of us. It was just like an idyllic moment, this place seemed to be out of all problems and difficulties. I had rarely felt such a pleasure since June. People began to leave, one by one, and they were all aspired by the sadness of the outside. In the end, we were only a very few, and I was very astonished to see my former professor was also. She wasn't used to stay very long here, and if it was a great pleasure to me to see her over there, I was wondering why she stayed. I was glancing at her with all the discretion I could get (which was really not much I expect) and I was so glad to see every movement of hers.

That's when I was lost in thoughts with my eyes on her face that she talked to me. I felt so well, and at the same time incredibly nervous. I couldn't help thinking she had been staying… _for me_, and I knew it wasn't that. It just couldn't. The fact is it was. _'Miss Granger, I shall like to talk to you for a minute please.'_ Her tone was quite straight, but there was some warm delicacy in it. Of course, silent and like afraid, I nodded with a try of a smile. When she stood up and walked to the stairs, I immediately followed her, unable to think properly, vaguely asking myself what I had done, half-glad and half-frightened. We walked upstairs, finally reached the second floor, and I understood quite uneasily that she was waiting for me to open the door. Always so nice and so polite, I knew it was just in case I shall have something to hide or tide up. I opened the door, had a sigh of relief because everything was quite clean, and invited her to take a seat –the only chair- as I was myself standing unsecure and hesitating. And then she just spoke. Her words were just so perfect and their meaning so delightful (as always) that I remained silent for a few seconds at the end of her explanation. I had to leave the dream (which wasn't properly a dream) and go back to reality before answering anything. What she had said? Well, she explained me she had gone at the ministry. It was to ask them to let me try to get my NEWTs. She told me she had explained I was her top student since my 1st year, I had fought against Voldemort quite directly, and so that she was quite sure I didn't need to come back for one year to get perfect grades. At that very moment, I am very sure I furiously blushed, trying unsuccessfully to hide it. I just couldn't believe she had congratulated me so nicely. Plainly, she said (she always said) whatever she thought; and that's what made it so awfully great. I stammered as in excuse that it wouldn't have bothered me being back at Hogwarts for one year (of course not! I would have seen her every single day) but that was very nice of her, having such a confidence in the student I was.

She smiled. I thought that was it. I was just going to open the door for her (I was both incredibly glad and terribly troubled to see her like this, alone) when she put her hand in her pocket, took her wand and with a look told me to stay. What could come now? I was afraid again, even if I remembered her smile. It was still the same subject, and I was also quite curious now. She went on, explaining she had given them some of my works in 6th year, because they seemed quite reluctant. She had also explained I could produce a formed patronus, they knew about the Polyjuice Potion during my 2nd year… I didn't remember when she had herself learnt about it, but she did not seem to be angry. Actually, she had given them as much information as possible to convince them. I was now very nervous: were they finally accepting it? And here comes the sentence I wasn't even waiting for, I just couldn't imagine and understand, _'They did even more'_. And, with a little movement, she made appear an official piece of paper she gave me. I was… well, quite frightened. I opened it very carefully: in it, there were two papers. I took the biggest, and read.

_"Dear Miss Hermione Jean Granger,_

_With your teachers' acceptation and after seeing the great marks you always had, and once established your very high level in magic, I am very pleased to tell you obtained your NEWTs with much success. Here are the results. It's a very unusual thing, but your teachers convinced the department of education, and I myself agreed._

_Yours,_

_Kingsley Shakelbolt."_

I was not sure I had understood well, it was impossible, but it seemed to be all good, just what was impossible. I gazed at Professor McGonagall who even smiled at my astonishment and told me to look at the other paper if I thought it actually was a joke.

_Transfiguration: O_

_Spells: O_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts: E_

_Runes: O_

_Potions: E_

_For others, just see the ministry to pass the proper exams._

I was so excessively dumbfounded that I didn't even try to ask questions, I sat down on my bed, the letter in my hand, and looking at Professor McGonagall. She was smiling again. A little smile mocking my reaction, and at the same time quite happy about it. I nodded to no one, and then I asked. I asked; and she answered. It was their idea, not even hers. It was the only thing they had thought of while looking at what I could do. I was glad. She went on. They had sent someone to Hogwarts: they wanted them to say if teachers were accepting the marks they wanted to give me. She said herself and Flitwick were just more than alright about an O –of course hers meant so much more to me than his. She even found a way to apologize. She said that, even knowing my behaviours at war, they had refused to give me that perfect mark in DADA because they just didn't had a proper teacher able to confirm I was great at theory as well. And for potions, she said (it was so strange seeing her explaining me her behaviours I used to know none of) she had been unable to convince them that despise his hatred towards me, Snape would have given me the O I did deserved. That day, I learnt that one of the things that he had always hated about me was the fact I had true dispositions for potions. But I didn't care.

I just cared about her presence, about this thing she had done for me, how nice it was, how great it was. This was just the perfect success of my life and it just made disappear the ones that had come before, and which would make all the coming ones look pale. At least all my hours of hard working and odd training were proved to be useful: I thought I had quite proved to her I deserve part of her attention. I was proud, so proud, I still am, and I will always be.

Leaving my memories, I stayed dumbfounded for a second, and then took the little box, and gazed for a minute at this particular paper –both of them- I had kept ever since that day. I was even more important than the official papers and certificates; it was her work for me. And then, I came back to work. This little moment I had had into my own mind just had reminded me why I had to do this well, why it was just so important. I put another piece of paper on the desk; I soaked the pen in my dark ink, and with much determination began the whole thing again. At first I added Hogwarts, a history, to the things I had as sources. If she made reference to it, I thought there was a reason. And then, I was up to the record again. I finally thought of what was more logical: '_Neville Longbottom'_. He was the first name. I then intensely tried to forget everything around me, to put myself in her place, and to go on. I added '_Kingsley Shacklebolt'_ just in case. And it became quite impossible to find anything else. I thought of Harry, so I put his name too, and then Flitwick's, and even Dumbledore's brother. But then it was really all I could do. The people that really would have been great for this were all dead: Lupin first of all, with his heart so brilliant and his shyness. Lost in thoughts once more, I wrote _'Severus Snape'_ on it before remembering he was dead also. He would just have been perfect for it. When I understood so, I suddenly felt it was impossible for me to leads this to an end, and I decided it was enough for today. I was to delete it later on, when my heart would beat properly again.

_So ? How was it ? Tell me pleazzzzzzzzzzzzze ! :)  
_


	6. Visiting Hogwarts?

_Here is a "memory-moment" but the coming chapter will make the plot go on! I still do hope you like it, and well... pray, review! Thanks for reading!_

_Bergère.  
_

**Visting Hogwarts?**_  
_

This list of mine was so excessively poor that I had to use plenty of arguments not to show it to Ron: as a matter of fact, I was very ashamed by it, and what it did –or actually didn't- contain. When I had finally took it again, I had erased _'Severus Snape'_, but the ink was only a small dark filament and I could still see most of the letters. His name was still on my mind, and I felt it horrid to look for someone else when I couldn't get rid of his idea. Of course I had understood that he would just have been the perfect person for that if he hadn't had died years ago letting Harry the information he needed to kill Him.

I was walking in my dinning-room and I was unable to rest a bit, but also unable to think properly. Before I could use them, my ideas were mixed up in my mind and I just couldn't use any of them. Besides I often felt abated by the feeling of her lack. She was not on earth anymore… this idea just lead unknown tears to my eyes, and they never rushed out. They were the silent and invisible proves of my sadness and of the slow desperation which lead my life these days. Two days happened to pass, slow and not useful. I thought I was driving mad! I just couldn't think; it was impossible to get ideas, to erase the idea of _'Severus Snape'_ from my mind. It seemed to be printed so deeply that I had to see it every time I gave a look at my thoughts and brain. He was there, smirking at me, as if to say _'You know I am the one for the job, you know it… but I'm dead, and so you are just unable to find someone else…' _I couldn't bear it anymore. It was like an awful torture, dangerous and hurting. I felt guilty to find myself unable to do things properly.

It was worse and worse everyday. Finally, after these two days when I began to feel I was already failing, I was totally desperate. I just couldn't do anything, every single time I tried to think I came back to this idea… _'Severus Snape'_… Why the hell couldn't he be alive! When, so angry at my self that I didn't control anything, I yelled this trough the whole house, _'Why the hell can't he be alive!'_ I immediately began to cry. That was the deep flow of hours of sadness, desperation and… And more than anything, it remembered me that I was not worth the task she had given me; that I wasn't worth her… And that she was dead. Because somewhere under this question about him being dead… There was the latent knowledge of her death. Why couldn't SHE be alive? Here was the question. Sadness, lack of courage and of bravery, tears and silences; all this was mixed up in my mind. That happened on a Sunday –I remember that detail just as I could have remembered something else. I was standing in the middle of my room when hatred towards everything pushed me into yelling this. I cried for something like an hour. These weren't (or not for long) enormous tears, but they were just the visible expression of my feelings. After this, I felt rather well, or at least much better. I had pushed away most of my fears and my sadness; they were now away just as my tears were. Of course I was not happy or anything of that kind, but I was still better: at least but not at last. When I began to be again quite able to have normal thoughts, I felt I had to take a look into the box. It was a moment for remembering. I instinctually knew what I had –and wanted- to look at.

In the box, I found another piece of paper. Opening it scarcely and with much delicacy, I saw her nice writing on it. My heart lost a beat, and I took a big breathe with my eyes closed before opening them again and reading it. It was from a couple of months after the day she had come to tell me I had had most of my OWLs without even going to do the exams. I had decided to go at Hogwarts and do some others. This meant some uninteresting things for most of the wizards. But I thought I had to try to get the grade for all the options I had had.

After a few discussions with guys from the ministry and a few letter exchanges with professor McGonagall, it had been decided that I would come in midst November to go and do the exams. I had done my very best to be prepared, and on that day, I was at Hogwarts again, I was glad, I was almost eighteen and the war had ended. I did what I had to do, and as I had ended up my last paper, on muggles' habits, the man who had been spending his day looking at me writing on numerous papers gave me a little smile, took the pieces of papers, and asked me nicely how it had all went. I said it had gone good, and that I hoped that it would be worth the attention the ministry gave to my person. He had a little laugh that I didn't understand at first, and then he look at me, with a little light shining in his eyes –as if I had been a sight of great fun- and told me that _'he supposed so…'_ or else he _'certainly wouldn't have to give this'_ to me. _'This'_ was the piece of paper I was at that moment holding in my hand in my bedroom. That day, I nodded as if I was aware of what he meant, forced myself into a smile, and left the room eager to see what was written on _'this'_. In her conventional manners, she –I assume you know who _'she'_ means- asked me to go and see her.

_Miss Granger,_

_I assume you were quite preoccupied by your exams, but now they are done, I wonder if you would please me by coming and see me now. _

_M. McGonagall._

I put the little piece of paper in my pocket, and walked to her classroom. I thought that she would be there, maybe teaching a class. And because I knew that her personal study and then apartments were just near it, I knew that was where I had to go. Moreover, my steps naturally led me there, and all the way, I felt a kind of smooth happiness all around me. I had some sunlight on my face, and it was giving me some good feeling. The walls were plunging me into the past years, the school years… but, happily enough, I just remembered the moments of fun and forgiveness, when we were just innocent friends having fun and laughing. I almost could see the three of us walking under an Invisibility cloak growing to be too little for our number, the Marauders map and its little points. I remember wondering if Harry had kept the map. It was around three, and in the outside, by the windows, I could clearly see the trees and the sky.

Slowly, I heard, louder and louder, a little and charming sound coming to my ears. At first, it was unclear and I couldn't define it. But, one step after the other, now almost following the sound, I could hear it was a voice, feminine voice. I was unable to listen to what it said; I couldn't get a single word yet for I was too far away, but it was like a melody, with its proper rhythm and harmonies. It drove a smile to my lips, a delicate and natural smile of joy, whose origin was quite unknown to my conscience. It was so nice. And, quite suddenly, I understood. It was her voice. Maybe I was near enough now to recognize its well known accents, or it was just that my mind cleared itself in understanding: it could only be her voice; it couldn't possibly be any other one. Now I knew that, and still walking, I could recognize clearly that it was her; I was surer. As a matter of fact, it was her.

I now knew she was in class: it was her _'class-voice'_, her _'teacher-tone'_, the ones that explained part of the respect all students did have towards her. Myself, I didn't know much of the manners she had when out of a classroom. The day she died, I knew a bit much… not that much actually. I smiled like a little child incredibly glad because he can see his favourite toy he had lost, and knows he is going to be able to get it in a few instants. Of course, it was far more complicated, but still. Finally, I reached the door of her classroom, and stopped. I thought I had to wait for the end of the class. I did not want to disturb her. I wanted to get as much as possible from this. Of course I didn't know why she had wanted me to come, but I couldn't help feeling glad, I couldn't help thinking it was positive. I had closed my eyes, as though looking at the closed door would have destroyed the magic of her voice. I could listen, and it was even as though I could smell and touch her voice. But it seemed that I couldn't see it. I felt that with opened eyes I would be unable to catch the sounds. They would escape. I must have stayed there for at least one little minute when I noticed a silence. The voice was not there anymore. It had left, as if it all had been a dream. An auditory dream, magic and mystic all the same; that's what it was. It seemed so empty now that this kind of presence had gone. Suddenly, I felt a need to use the four of my remaining senses: I needed to see. I wanted to look.

I opened my eyes, and realized that the door in front of which I was standing was opened. I hadn't noticed, I was too deeply lost in thoughts, but it had been from the very start. I now felt guilty and ridiculous as well. I was like ashamed by my position. Everyone was staring at me, and they looked astonished. They were second year students… or maybe first year, but they looked too old, too… accomplished. I knew they couldn't be any older, because I could recognize none of their faces, and all the other students had been at Hogwarts when I still was. These ones hadn't. The expression in most faces showed that they knew me none. Somewhere, there were friends whispering and nodding. Maybe these ones had more and less recognized me from the pictures I hadn't been able to escape from in the Daily Prophet. I will never know. I had a movement of retreat, hoping I could disappear as I had come, and be back at the end of the hour. I hadn't seen her, I hoped she hadn't either, I hoped I could be discreet enough now not to be noticed.

Of course, it was impossible. _'Miss Granger, are you alright?'_ she asked. I knew she knew I was alright, I knew it was because she wanted to say something, just to put me out of this. I nodded, and trying to control the trembling of my voice answered yes. I couldn't help spluttering some words which didn't make sense and were meant to mean that I didn't want to disturb, and was to be back later on. The light in her eyes clearly showed that she had understood very well. I felt terribly ridiculous. She had a little smile that no one but me could see because they were still all concentrating on me. And then she went on, clearly deciding not to care for what I had said. _'Would you please come for the end of the hour?'_ That was so strange. She was talking to me as an adult, someone who was no more a student of hers… I was it no more. Thus, she was just asking me a kind of favour. But, to me, she still was an untouchable teacher, and I couldn't refuse. Moreover, it was something I always wished I could do… going to a class of hers, but not mine. It was even more priceless now that she was not my teacher anymore; I was never to go to a class of hers. All this, and the fact I couldn't refuse a proposition of hers, I nodded in acceptation and entered the room.

She looked gently at me, and seeing that I didn't know what to do and where to stand, she nodded slowly as if taking a decision. There were some whisperings all around, the kids were murmuring to one another, because now that my name had been said, they all knew who I was. Hermione Granger, one of the best friends of the Boy-Who-Lived, the one the newspapers named _'the brain of the trio'_. She suddenly turned to face the group of students, and this, associated to her look, transformed the low sound into a total silence. They were all waiting for her to take a decision. I was as well, while standing uncertain just in front of the door. I did not want to move a single arm, afraid that it should have an influence on my destiny. _'Well, I hope Miss Granger will accept to talk a bit about what she went throw. Of course I'm not you teacher of Defence against the Dark Arts, but I assume this can't do you any bad. And, it'd after all not be a formal something.'_ It was said quite plainly, always with this tone which was only hers. I assume I stayed dumbfounded, my eyes opened more than the usual amount, because she had a little beginning of a smile, and told me: _'Well, it depends on you… But you can't deny you have some more experience than most of the former students of mine. Or they weren't quite… good at theory.'_ I knew what it meant. It meant, even if I think none of the students in front of me could possibly understand, that she personally thought it would be interesting for them. And, moreover, there was this thing about my marks which used to be so good, the reference to the NEWTs. I couldn't refuse either, and even less now that I was here. I said that it would be a pleasure, and walking quite like a robot I reached her desk. For the very first time of my life I was on the stage, her stage.

Once there, I felt once more quite… naked. What did I have to do? I looked at her, and decided to ask. _'I'm just okay professor, but what shall I do?'_ She seemed to find the question natural, and answered immediately. _'They'll ask questions: interesting ones!'_ I couldn't help smiling. It was just so much of her! I then spent nearly half an hour answering to shy questions. They were, as I had thought, 2nd years students. Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs as their uniforms could show. I felt better after a few minutes. At one moment, while I was answering to a question about the Chamber of Secrets –and while thinking about the day I had asked professor McGonagall about it- I noticed a little group of Gryffindor students whispering. They seemed to be quite excited, and it made me think in myself with Harry and Ron at the same age. All kids are very alike, I thought. Finally, they stopped, and as I myself stopped my explanation, I saw one of them, a little boy, raising his hand and looking intensely at me. I was quite eager to know what they all four (they were four) wanted to know, and asked him what he wanted. He had a furtive look in direction of professor McGonagall, quite frightened I think, and then faced me again, took a deep breathe and then: _'Is it true that you and Harry Potter and the Weasley-guy created… Dumbledore's Army.'_ I understood why he seemed so shy. It was not a much authorized organisation. I decided to have some fun and began that way. _'First of all, the "Weasley-guy" is named Ron Weasley, and even if it doesn't interest you, he is my boyfriend, so please do be kind towards him… And secondly, I am very okay to talk to you about this, but I'm not very sure it is going to please your teacher here.'_ I looked at professor McGonagall and saw her repressing a little laugh. It didn't last much, she was not that kind of person that their feelings rule, and then she said that it after all was part of what helped us in destroying the Dark Lord, and that had happened in… peculiar circumstances. Of course she couldn't tell them that, even if quite angry about it, she couldn't help feeling we had had to do it knowing who our teacher was that year.

I explained them how the idea had come, how we had convinced Harry. I told them about the necessity to be discreet. Of course, I insisted on the fact it wasn't very clever of us to do so, that it was not authorized, and that we had done so because of very particular outside circumstances. And, I also told them that what I had done to prevent us from being betrayed had only been half-working: the charm had worked, but we had been betrayed! Finally, I told them that it was where I had learnt some of the most elementary charms in a fight, and also how to make a patronus. I saw a light glittering in all pair of eyes, and a small fair girl exclaimed, quite unable to control her curiosity: _'Could you show us?'_ She immediately blushed in shame and shyness, and I gave her a gentle smile. However, I hesitated. I glanced at professor McGonagall, and she nodded in a very small movement of the head. That was enough for me, and I closed my eyes, concentrating. It came very easily. There were no dementors, and I was very happy at that very moment. I remember concentrating on the day she had come to see me, and a nice silver otter came out of my wand, ran for a few minutes, and then disappeared while they all stared at it dumbfounded.

Finally, it ended very soon, and they all left class with a glad smile. The girl who had asked me for my patronus seemed to hesitate, and then came to me, and with a little trembling voice, asked for an autograph. I just couldn't help a little laugh, and while being after all quite troubled, I nodded and did so. She then ran out of the room as if her timidity had come back, and I was astonished to hear, just on my back, the voice of professor McGonagall saying: _'This little girl is a fan.'_ I turned round, and glanced at her. I was a bit astonished by what she had just said. That reminded me where I was, that I didn't know why I was here, and everything. I was suddenly a schoolgirl again, intimidated by her admired teacher, blushing. She had a very little and discreet laugh about my expression, and then invited me to go in her office to take a cup of tea. I was intimidated still, but who would refuse a cup of tea from her favourite former teacher? I nodded, followed her, take the seat she gave me, smiled politely and waited. _'You did quite well with them all. They were interested. And…I definitely think that girl is a fan.'_ She had said so with such a natural expression that I couldn't feel bad. I was hesitating, but it finally went well. _'Oh… it wasn't me; it was what I said that was interesting.'_ I preferred to say nothing about the little Hufflepuff girl.

We didn't talk much. I was shy, she was nice. But the memory I brought up with me ever since that day, was the moment she had asked me to come into her class, the enchantment of her voice as I was walking down Hogwarts …and that little girl, with Minerva McGonagall's remark. It was just to tell me it was good. It was just to talk. I still feel rather strange about her asking me for a simple talk. I believe I will never know if she wanted to tell me something in particular.

When I left the memory, I felt a need to go at Hogwarts, a need to see that classroom. I remembered what Neville had talked to me about. Yes, I would do it. Who knew? Maybe that was to help me to get out of my enormous problem. I did not know, but it was worth a try. I said to myself it was a good idea, and because it was Sunday and around 1 o'clock, I thought I could go without telling in advance, and Neville would not be against it. I sent an owl to Ron just explaining that I was at Hogwarts for a few hours, and would be back for dinner, and then disapparated at Hogsmead. I soon reached the entrance, and rang the bell. I saw a smiling Hagrid coming to me, opening the door and letting me enter. When he understood I was there about the will of professor McGonagall, he nodded very seriously, and didn't ask anymore question. I was awfully glad about that, for I needed to do it on my own.

_Here it is ! I quite fancy the scene with the 2nd year students personally! What do you think of it?_


	7. Is it a clue?

_Here is the following chapter. I hope you'll be glad about it, and tell me what you think! I also hope my english is correct and my story interesting!_

_Have a nice read!_

_Bergère.  
_

**Is it a clue?**

I see that every time I write my story, I'm very easily lost in my memories of that time, and you might, then, know more of what happened between me and her when she still was alive than when I was looking for her heir or heiress as ruler of Hogwarts. Half of me apologizes for that, but I can't help feeling another half of my mind incredibly glad about being able to tell these. So, I just will go on that way, and confess that I have a very egoistic opinion about writing: I do write it more for myself than for anything else. The conclusion of all this, it's not complicated; I'll go on that way.

That's because I can't help my beating-heart whenever I say or write her name. When I think of moments when she was near me, or even more when I received marks of kindness of hers, I can't help a rush of feelings either. It's a bit like a part of herself, a very small part of her! And this part, I've been sharing it with me ever since I was 11, and it's more important every hour that goes by. The fact is that, once she was dead, it took an importance even more visible than before, because there was no chance given anymore to see her, and add another little thing to the collection of psychological souvenirs I already had. I can't help admiring her great mind and great person. I couldn't do so when a teenager, but at that time it was a bit of a muddle-headed affection towards her. I couldn't help it either when a married woman; and I couldn't help it when she died: then, it was a feeling I shared intensely in my heart and it was even more like a talisman. And now, the old woman I am can't help it either. Now, it's more of a calm sensation, but it's still there, in my mind. It seems quite odd, doesn't it? Well… maybe it is, but it is true after all. And I accept it, and wouldn't detach myself from it for anything in the world! It has been ruling part of my life, more and less, and if now I had to live without it, I don't know how I would do.

That is to say, sorry for the memories, but I can't help it, and I want them.

I followed Hagrid to the castle itself, and we remained silent all the way. That was just… natural; and it really was a good point to me, because I was lost in the thoughts of how not useful was to be my visit, and also thinking about the memories that had lead me to do this. We finally reached the Hall, and I paused for a moment. That place had always been very important to me, even more now that I was not student anymore. Moreover, it was like the remaining ashes of her past reign over there. Oh! Of course it was just a feeling I personally shared, but it was really very strong to me. Hagrid was still walking while I had stopped in the entrance, and as he was going to disappear to go I didn't know where, I remembered I had to ask him a question: _'Hagrid, where's Neville now?'_ He sighed, I didn't know why, and finally told me that he expected in the teacher's room, or maybe in his own apartments. I nodded, and walked slowly to the teacher's room. I had never –in my whole life- entered that place. It was like… well, some untouched place. It was hers. And the feeling that now, it was not her anymore who was going to be there, that it would not be her leading the meetings… I thought once more I was going to cry, but of course I didn't.

As I was walking, I saw a few students talking with much liveliness, about the holidays which were coming, the exams in a few days, and even the nice weather in the outside. I felt a pale smile on my face: they seemed so happy, so… young and sweet. In comparison, I was an old woman destroyed by the death of the idol of my teenager's class. She had been buried only a few days ago, and they were all quite well, they seemed to live it well. I asked myself if some of them could feel the way I did, and thought it was impossible.

Having reached the entrance, I knocked on the door, and waited silently. I could hear the sound of people talking, but no one did answer, and I hesitated. What shall I do? Finally, as I had knocked again without possibly getting an answer, I opened the door and looked into the room. There were a few armchairs around a chimney whose mantelpiece was done with the colours of the four houses. I couldn't see who was there, because the persons were sitting in such a position that I could only see their back. I heard the voice of Neville saying: _'Yes, it's really sad… And I think it's very uneasy for her.'_ I sighed, because I had found him. Stepping truly in it, I cleared my throat and I saw Flitwick turning his head to see who was here. He exclaimed that it was nice of me to come, and before I could say a word, I had a cup of coffee in my hand, and he was inviting me to take a seat while explaining they were just talking about me. As I looked astonished, Neville smiled and explained it was about my _'task'_. I nodded, and answered that was why I was here.

I was embarrassed. I would have preferred to see Neville alone, and even to him I would have hesitated to speak plainly. The fact that my former Charms' teacher was here did not help at all. I told them I was trying, to begin up, to make a list of the persons who could possibly get the job, and with a forced giggle, I told them they were both on it. Neville smiled but told me that he thought that if it had been him, I certainly wouldn't have had to do that research. Yes, I had thought of it, but the fact is that, if I erased him from my very short list, it was coming to be awfully empty. Flitwick also smiled, and told me that he didn't think it was him either, even more knowing he wasn't far from retiring, but was sure I was going to do the job well. I nodded, and even if it wasn't much, I felt a bit better after this mark of confidence. However, it felt really strange to know he was also going to leave there. Of course it was different from what I felt about the death of Minerva McGonagall, but… to me, Hogwarts was really its teachers. If the main of them left… it was like not Hogwarts anymore. I asked _'Really, you won't leave here, will you?'_ He had a little smile, and told me he didn't really know, because he was old, but couldn't find in his heart the strength to leave there. I nodded; I could understand this very well. And then I had a question: _'Who's… who's doing Transfiguration class now?'_ I saw them exchanging a look, but they didn't seem to say what they thought of, and answered that for the end of the year, there was no one, which was a bit of the problem for the 5th and 7th years and that they will have to find a teacher for this with a headmaster, because they didn't think someone else would be able to do both as she used to do. I nodded, because it was true of course. She was just someone great…

However, after a few minutes of talking, I decided that it wasn't a shame to ask for some help. Not much! But just a little bit… _'Tell me please… do you have… an idea of who it could be?'_ They smiled, and I saw they did have one, surely the same. They remained silent a few seconds, and then Flitwick looked at me and said: _'Well, yes… but I'm afraid we can't tell you. It had kind of escaped to Minerva once; and moreover we aren't sure at all…'_ I nodded once more. It meant that it wasn't so complicated, or at least that I would find. But he went on: _'You… just have to search in the very bottom of your heart to find'_. I looked at him quite astonished. She had written something of that kind in her letter. I knew it was no use to ask, so I just thank them. We all remained silent for a few minutes more, and I was thinking in all this. It was a kind of clue, but I felt I couldn't use it; I needed a key of something to have an access to its meaning. Then, I looked at Neville again: I had to ask him if I could do what I was here to do. _'It will bother no one of I just take a look at her classroom, or will it?'_ He smiled, and told me I could do whatever I wanted and that the codes to her former apartments were both the same (from her office and from the corridor): _bonus mulieris_. I nodded, astonished and glad all the same. As I was stepping outside the room, he added that if I still were there around 7, they'd like me to take my dinner there.

Reaching the door of her classroom reminded me my memory, and I smiled. It had been such a nice moment that day. There was a bit of dust in there, showing that the room hadn't been use for a few days; and I assumed the house elves themselves had thought it wasn't up to them to decide to put the place back to its habitual sight. I felt she wouldn't have liked that, and thinking it would maybe help me in putting an end to my dark mourning, I took the decision myself, and with three or four movements of the wand swept all kind of dust and disorder away. Now, it was just like the classroom I had known. Slowly, I had a short walk past the students' tables, and finally found myself back near her desk. It was a wooden piece of material, as strong as she was. I paused there a few minutes, and finally decided that I would go back there again in a few minutes, but before I was to walk a bit in her apartments if I felt I could, which wasn't sure…

Trying to look self-convicted, I walked to the door leading to her office, which was opened, and paused a few minutes to smell the fragrance of that place where I had been very rarely. But, forcing myself into one more step because I wanted to look for any kind of clue in her apartments, I finally reached the door opposite to the one I had just passed, and found myself in front of the portrait of a pretty maid who was holding in her hands a young and peaceful baby. I was astonished to recognize a wizard version of a famous mother Maria of Raphael. Both of them seemed to be deeply asleep, and I hesitated, but thought that once there, it wasn't waking up a portrait that was going to stop me. So I cleared my throat, so that she blinked with a tired expression, and with an air and a tone of voice that ought to be convinced and strong, but wasn't that much, pronounced the words _'bonus mulieris'._ However, nothing happened, and I remained there, a bit ridiculous. I wasn't excessively astonished, because the woman on the painting seemed to be half-asleep. It was understandable, because they certainly had both of them spent more than a week without anyone trying to enter. So I began to speak a bit, and after a few minutes, I saw that she was awake, and that she was staring at me as if I was a very strange kind of sight. So, I repeated the password. Nothing happened, and I began to feel nervous. Now, I really wanted to enter. Thinking that maybe Neville had mistaken, I left the room as fast as possible to reach the other entrance to her quarters. I didn't know where it was exactly, but in which corridor. And, as a matter of fact, there was only one painting there. I stopped, and full of hope, said the code again, _'bonus mulieris'_. Nothing happened, again.

My heart began beating harder. It was just impossible. But, this time, the portrait in front of me (a rich noble man looking at me with a proud expression) was absolutely awake, and there was no possible mistake. I knew Neville was sure of what he had said. There was a problem, something that did not work. I had certainly done something wrong; something had escaped to my thoughts. Without much hope, I said it again, but it of course didn't open the door. I suddenly felt abated, and as I was taking my head in my hands, I heard a masculine and rough voice telling this:

_It just can't be so simple,_

_And what you're asking me is impossible,_

_For what you are looking for _

_Is a secret you can't afford._

_The door is not closed forever,_

_But the law is clever_

_And to get into the heavenly dreamt place_

_That in your quest you can't replace_

_You have to find by yourself_

_The mystery hidden in the shelf_

_Of your own mind_

_And of the meaning of some words that aren't blind._

_The solution to your question_

_Is just that leader to whom you will pay attention, _

_Whose name is to be pronounced_

_If you want the access, once. _

_Think intensely,_

_And in your mind the solution will be._

_Have confidence and use your time_

_As it has to be done with no crime._

_I just can't answer more,_

_My words are already lost around the shore_

_And I can't tell anything_

_That would not be in the song I sing._

I stayed dumbfounded, as I hadn't understood much of what it meant. What was it? What surprises did the castle still hide for me? In front on me, the portrait was still again, staring at me, as if waiting for me to do something. What… Suddenly, I understood it was like a Sphinx question, you see. Not about men of course, and I wouldn't die if unable to answer… But here was the idea! If I found what it meant, I could be aware of why did this refuse to open the door. I doubted it would help me much, and asked myself if it was her work or just some classical Hogwarts' enchantment. I looked at the man in the portrait, and asked: 'Is it hers, or is it just as it has to be?' He sighed –or something of that kind- and without stopping his look at me, just repeated it again. I did listen carefully that time, but because I couldn't concentrate much I think, I couldn't understand really. I would have to work on this… and now, my curiosity was there also. I knew that I could get no more information from the painted man, and asked him gently to repeat, as I had taken a piece of paper and was writing as fast as possible the short poetry.

Holding the paper in my hand, I walked back to her classroom, and after hesitating a bit, sat down where she used to sit (and rarely did sit, because she was always standing during most of her classes). I felt it was where I had to go. Where I had to look for the answer: it would certainly be easier to find in there. It felt strange, but I prevented myself from thinking to something else, and began searching. After I don't know how long, I thought I had the result of the whole thing. It meant that if I wanted to go in there, I had to use the name of the future headmaster as a password. I had to find that out, and then it would be like a confirmation to my researches. I sighed. It was a profound relief. I would be able to check if I were right or wrong before that the castle said so really. I was instinctively sure it was some idea of hers. Moreover, I was decided not to ask any name in order to find out: it did not even come to my mind. The result had no price if it was just found easily. It would be like cheating. I couldn't do this to professor McGonagall.

At that moment, I closed my eyes for a minute, after a long and way-round look to the place, from there. I remembered, again.

It was just the last day of our first year, so far ago. We were all three of us sitting at the Gryffindor table, and the headmaster had decided to give points to us both and to Neville too. I remembered her look at me when he had given me my points, about this thing with the potions: being able to choose the good one with some logic. I had seen that she was glad about that, and the little light in her eyes –certainly addressed to us all but that I like thinking just for myself- was the best present.

I had the feeling I had lived the scene again when I opened my eyes. I blinked and wondered if this way to have me understand the role of the portraits had been chosen because of this. I did not know. Seeing the clock just on the wall opposite to me, I saw it was 6 o'clock. Already! I decided to do the last thing I had to do by now, and walked to the corridor again, because I did not know if the young maid of the other painting had received the same charm. Once in front of it, I breathed deeply and gazing at the noble man, said _'Severus Snape'_. I just wanted the portrait to refuse him. It would just empty him from my mind. I was excessively relieved when the man looked at me with his expression disdainful and bored all the same and began to recite the poem again. After nearly laughing because I was glad he was just totally erased now, I hesitated for a moment and then thought that it was also the moment to delete some other people whose possibility was just… impossible. So, I also said _'Neville Longbottom'_ and _'Filius Flitwick'_ one after the other, and I just had the same desperate look of the portrait that didn't want to tell his song anymore but had to, and the poem itself. That was done. I had to be sure, and I was. Now, I would be able to have proper researches, proper ones, and find out. I sighed. I felt really tired, my watch said it was nearly 7, and I knew I couldn't do anything more now. Knowing all that, and remembering Neville's invitation, I walked to the Great Hall and the Dining-Room.

When I arrived, I noticed it was still empty, but I had just done a few meters to Neville's office when I met him in a corridor. He smiled, and asked me if I had found solutions. I did not want to tell him everything, but he deserved a bit. _'Yes. I'll certainly have to come back again once or twice, but I found a little something.'_ He smiled again and did not try to find out what I had found. As we were reaching the room –again for me-, he murmured _'I have much better if you want.'_ I glanced at him astonished, but he refused to answer for the moment, clearly showing that he wanted me to think a bit. For a few moments I thought he looked like Dumbledore when he refused to give a proper answer.

We reached the teachers' desk, and Neville told me to sit at the deputy headmaster's place while he was taking the headmaster one and explaining that he hated doing so, but it reassured the students. I nodded and understood, taking with an uncertain manner the seat where she had been standing all my 6 years long. It was strange, so awfully strange. I tried to look natural as the students where entering the room and whispering while pointing –more and less discreetly- at me. Flitwick also entered and when seeing me he smiled with a little smirk I didn't understand. What did they both want me to do? The dinner began, and as I was starting to think I would never know, I saw Flitwick looking at Neville and asking him if he had asked me. I looked at one and then the other until Neville laughed a bit and took the decision to explain. _'Well, we weren't really thinking of it seriously, but you're coming so… Well, now we think it really is a good idea.'_ I looked at him. In my head, I was wondering why the bloody Merlin he didn't talk _'And?'_ I asked. _'And I wanted to ask you if you would please stay here for the remaining weeks of the school-year, to do your research, and also do transfiguration class for all students, more particularly 5th and 7th years.'_ I looked at him with such a dumbfounded face that he couldn't help smiling, and I also could hear Flitwick laughing on my back. Turning to him _'You… you are serious, aren't you?'_ He nodded, and before I could say a single word, he had added that I could of course ask Ron before, but was sure he would agree. I remained silent for a few minutes. There were too much things in my head, I knew I couldn't refuse. It was impossible. So impossible that I just had no weapons to fight back against such a proposition. But it felt strange, also. I felt there eyes on me, waiting for my reaction. I knew they were aware I couldn't refuse. So, I nodded slowly, and turning to Neville said _'Well, if I can talk to Ron by the chimney, it's all right.'_ He said it was all good, and that I could go at home by the chimney connexion, ask him, take my things, and be back for the night here. I had nothing to add. I did not know if it was a good idea. And I also knew that I would maybe never know! We had a short end of dinner, I came to her former office, repressing a want to stop and cry, and I soon was home.

Of course, Ron wasn't excessively glad, but he told me that it would help me doing my thing easier and faster, kissed me, and even helped me getting some clothes and books of my school-years from the library of the house. As I was leaving there, I promised I would write every day, spend as much time as possible at home, and told him I loved him. It was really true, and I now thought that I had an incredibly great husband. Yes, sometimes he was very self-convinced and unbearable, but he had been able to understand I needed to go there, and not even showing really his disappointment. I would miss him.

Back at Hogwarts, Neville met me with a smile in the headmaster office where he seemed never to be, and asked me if it was alright apartments in the Gryffindor wing, but not her place. I exclaimed I did not want to go in her place, and as I did so I thought of the code, the name that the code was. I entered, he gave me a schedule and told me that really I did not have to do a prepared and everything class, but just helping them ending up the years. And then he left, and I stayed there. I was at Hogwarts again. I was going to teach what she had taught. It was strange, and I suddenly felt rather bad.

_Here it is! What's your opinion?  
_


	8. Doing class

_ The 8th chapter! which I like quite much. There are -I think- a bit more action, compared to some of the previous chapters! Which doesn't mean it's adventure either :p _

_Wish you a good read, and waiting for reviews :D_

_Bergère.  
_

**Doing class**_  
_

I was a Hogwarts teacher now… Merlin! How was I going to manage with such a thing? First of all being a teacher there, a thing I hadn't even imagined in my craziest dreams… And more than anything, coming after her! Now Neville had left, I felt bad, as if I couldn't breathe –when I could-. Walking as I could, I reached a couch and fall on it. I would have, from tomorrow at 9 (as said in the schedule) to the end of the year, to do… Transfiguration class! Oh, Merlin… Part of it was a pleasure, but on the other hand, I felt ashamed and ridiculous. What were they going to think of me after such a great teacher? And it was like ending up her death to take her job. Suddenly, I felt that at first I shall hate the person having to rule Hogwarts. He would end up the destruction of her great person. Terrible! But we didn't have any choice, any of us. Hogwarts had to go on. It wasn't someone's decision. It was life… And, moreover, keeping this school as the great place it had to be, it was keeping a bit of her. Suddenly, I imagined the coming edition of _'Hogwarts, a history'_ with her name added at the end of the book (the name of the living headmaster wasn't in it; it had never been). She would maybe even have a chapter dedicated to her work as a headmaster, just as Dumbledore had.

It would be awfully difficult, I thought, standing on there, behind _her_ desk, doing _her_ class, teaching _her_ students. I would have to do it well, being at least well, and if possible doing something she would be proud of me about. Maybe, even, being at her place (whatever hard it would be) would help me finding out what I was there for at first. I sighed, quite in relief. I had something to be done, and that was the more important. The work would be terribly hard, doing both… but it would be okay I hoped.

Before taking any more time to think again in the hardness of the job, I stood up, picked up my wand out of my pocket, and got all my stuff into the cupboard and etc. Then, I walk to it, took few books out of the shelves and put them on the desk I had. They were the seven books of Transfiguration she used with her students. I paused, glancing at the 7 titles which were now spread out in order: from 1st to 7th year. I sat, and remembered she did her lessons without using the books much. She gave exercises, pages to be read… but we never had had to read any of it during class –this made me think in a nasty woman I just hated! I sighed. What was I supposed to do? I wanted to prepare a little bit of something, but didn't know what they had done and what they hadn't. I thought the program might be nearly ended if not already… so; I would just have to ask them… I remembered that she used to do the chapters in the same order as they were in the book. That was good. The students would just have to tell me where they were. If, as I assumed, they had already ended up, I would just do what wasn't really clear in their heads (more particularly for 5th and 7th years). That was all. I however opened the book of 3rd years and read the titles of the chapters, and then did the exact same with 5th, 2nd and 1st years: they were the classes I had on Monday and I didn't want to be totally out. Then, as I was in it, I did the same with the other books, and when I finally look at the clock, it showed 10. Already! I knew I was tired, but also that I just wouldn't be able to sleep. I so drank a tisane, had a short walk to the window I opened, and then I breathed the dark air for a while. Feeling calmer, I closed it, shuddered because of the cooler temperature now in the room, and went to bed. It was strange being alone in there. Finally, sleep came quite soon, and Morpheme took me in its arms.

The sun touched the skin of my face. I felt comfortable in there, and even if the bed in which I was lying wasn't familiar to me, it felt as if I had always been there. As I was slowly awaking a bit much, I had a fearful idea and suddenly redressed myself. I was late! My alarm clock did not ring, I was sure… and now, the sun was here and I was late! I was now totally awakened, and I hurried, trying to find my wand, and as I did so I was also trying to find the way out of the bed. I finally reached the tool I was looking for and a _'lumos'_ enabled me to discover my clock showing proudly 7 o'clock. I glanced dumbfounded at it. I was not late! Not late at all. I sighed noisily and wondered whether I would leave the bed now are not. As I was awaken and already half way from the ground, I slipped out there and walked to reach the cupboard. I opened it and then came the existential question I had always prevented myself from wondering too much about: what would I wear? Oh Merlin, I hadn't even thought about that. I wanted them to consider me as someone they should respect, and instinctively, I was to take a large black witch's dress. But, I stopped even before touching the cloak. It was just the kind of things she wore. I couldn't wear what she wore! I paused, and stared at the different possible things I could wear with a depressed look. First, I couldn't wear colours… wouldn't be appropriate, and I wouldn't bear them actually.

Finally, I picked a black dress, something I used for quite official meetings at the ministry. The cloak would have been too much, and it after all was summertime. I took a shower and got dressed. When I looked at the picture the mirror gave, I found it looked very serious, and renounced to the chignon I was thinking in doing. It would make me look too much like her, and I couldn't bear doing what I considered as taking her place. I just made my hair as I could so that they wouldn't hide my face. I was ready. Well… physically, because my heart was beating hard in my chest. How was I supposed to manage that? I breathed deeply, and decided to go and take my breakfast as if nothing had happened: she would have wanted me to be self-confident, I knew. As I reached the Room, I wondered where I should sit, and if kids knew. I entered and there were less astonished looks than the day before. I reached the headmaster's chair where Neville was sitting, and he did a movement to show me her chair. I nodded, a bit frightened, and I had just sat that I asked: _'I'll have to sit there, always?'_ He looked at me with a little mocking smile I didn't like much _'Well… you'll have to be more and less Gryffindor's headmistress for the time you'll be here.'_ I remained silent for a while, just unable to accept this. I hadn't even imagined it could be this also… and it was however so logical! _'But, but…'_ I tried; but he smiled gently and stood up suddenly.

All students turned their head to look at him, and I thought I knew what was coming. _'As your Heads of houses told yesterday night, Mrs Granger-Weasley will do the Transfiguration classes until the end of the year, and be headmaster for Gryffindor house all the same. This begins… now!' _I nodded silently as I saw all of them chatting about the news, and the Gryffindor table looked quite glad about it. I smiled, it was a good point. I left the table a few moments after that and had a walk in the garden for more than half an hour, as the students were, for most of them, having their first class of the week. I sighed as I entered the castle again. It was 8h40 and it was time, I thought, to 'prepare' myself. This meant going into the classroom, checking the books and little details, and trying to stay calm as I was waiting for the students. They were 3rd years: the first students I ever taught to. I was trying to think in what I would do, what I would tell them; but I failed horribly, unable to think properly. I decided I would just be self-confident –easily said, isn't it?– and words would easily come. It wouldn't be trouble-free. No! But I just had to try my best. I deeply breathed as the bell rang, and stood up, opened the door and waited for them. I was concentrating on what I shall do and therefore forced myself not to think in her. I would have lost myself in questions and memories, and it was no time for such a thing. I, for the moment, succeeded in avoiding my mind from comparing between her teacher's aptitudes and the poor thing I was going to try.

They arrived. I could see a group of chatting kids who walked in disorder all over the corridor and inevitably came nearer. I breathed, trying to remain calm as I wanted to give them a good first impression. I knew, with my student's experience, that the first thoughts you have about a teacher are the most important. Of course their opinion shall change as they would know me better, but I knew also that they wouldn't have much time to know me better and maybe change their mind. That is to say I felt a kind of ache in my stomach because I knew my few days of teaching depended partly on this moment. I suddenly had the picture of her, when she did the same as I did: it wasn't every day, but sometimes she did wait outside the class. I felt I was going to plunge back into my memories and closed my eyes, shook my head a bit to chase all these ideas out. When I opened my eyelids again, the sight I had was a group of students looking at me and waiting for a signal meaning they could enter. As I nodded to invite them in, I saw a few curious looks trying to be discreet. This reminded me that most of them much have heard of me: Harry was in most history books now, and Ron and I also had had the 'honour' to have our names on these books. I had also seen, at once, a book for children named 'Harry Potter and his friends again the forces of darkness'. I remember sighing the day I had seen that –it was so awfully ridiculous- and I remember sighing this day when I thought of that as the 3rd years entered the classroom.

They immediately became silent, and sat without more than one or two whispers. She really had an important influence on her students so that they still respected her rules when she was dead. I also thought it had to do with the fact they didn't know me and so did not want to upset me, just in case. I needed to be myself, and I wanted to follow her means of teaching all the same: this, I knew. I forced myself again into avoiding thinking to much in her, in feeling I was taking her place –and moreover was not worth it. They were waiting for me to speak, I knew. I cleared my throat with I felt dry, and I began. _'Good morning to all of you. I am, as professor Longbottom said, Mrs Granger-Weasley. I'm going to be your Transfiguration teacher for the two remaining weeks.'_ I paused, that was maybe the hardest part. _'We shall just do what you've not done yet if there are such things, and improve your knowledge of the subjects you didn't understand perfectly well.'_ Another pause: I felt I had to tell them something about her. What? There were things I would have like to tell, but it was more to justify myself, it wasn't what I was supposed to say. I breathed and try to just say what I had to. It felt so strange to say her name, that way, in front of them all. _'Professor McGonagall was a great teacher and a great person herself. I'm not here to do a full orison; it's not the moment nor than the subject. However, I wanted to express my sadness about her death, and just tell you I am not to be as good a teacher as she was. That's why we'll just do what's possible for now, and I truly hope you'll get a proper teacher for the coming year.'_ I had a beginning of a smile: it had been very hard for me to tell them all this, but it was just what I felt. In front of me, I could now see numerous pairs of eyes looking at me quite interested and waiting for me to go on. I knew that.

The nervousness hadn't left, but now that I had done what I considered as the hardest part, it was much easier and I authorised my own self to be less tensed. I stopped holding my hands as I had been doing without even noticing, and I did one or two steps to leave the stage and find myself before the desk. They were still curious I could see. I went on _'Ok. First of all, you'll just tell me where you were in the program, and ask me the questions you have to ask. I personally may have some myself also.'_ They nodded, but there was a silence when all the kids were looking at each other; they seemed to be wondering about something. There were small groups talking as low as they could, a few were just exchanging looks; a young girl was looking at nowhere. I smiled, and asked _'So, what did you do last time?'_ That was just horrible when I understood what I had asked. I knew she had died just on a Saturday, which meant, knowing her, that she had had class with them, maybe, the day before she left forever. I suddenly was afraid that I would begin to cry, but I did not. I saw the young girl shaking her head as if she was waking up, and she raised her hand. I thought she looked a bit like me at her age, but there was a bit of sadness in her eyes. I asked her, she said they had done the last chapter during their last class. Her voice was tern and I thought I ought to talk to her. I was Gryffindor's Headmistress for now, and she was from my former house. I asked her what her name was. _'Julia_ _Finnigan, ma'am' _she said._ 'Oh! Are you of Seamus' family?'_ I asked. _'He's my grand-uncle.'_ And then she just remained silent again.

As there was a silence and I thought of what I was to say now, I just find it impressive and weird all the same that she had ended up her work before dying. Just as if she had known… I breathed and went on as if nothing had happened. As if I weren't overwhelmed by sensations. I looked at them all, deciding I would just do what I had thought I would do. _'So, I'll just ask you to take a piece of paper and write the transfigurations you have problems with, explaining if it's with practise or theory. If you don't have problems, just tell me the things you'd like to learn more about. You don't have to give me your names, but that'd be nice.'_ I smiled, they all did, and I sat as they did. A quarter of an hour after, I had 35 pieces of paper in my hand, and I had decided to let them ask any questions they wanted for the last 15 minutes. I had to talk about my past, about Harry and etc. I couldn't feel angry: it was quite natural for them to be curious about how the darkest wizard of his time had been defeated.

This class ended up that way, they left when the bell rang, and I forgot to talk to the young Julia. I did the same with the other classes, before or after lunch, and discovered she had ended up all the subjects with all levels. With the two levels I had for two hours (5th and 1st years) I began a few simple things so that I wouldn't lose my time. That was impressive. I just had to check what they knew. It would be easy, and I knew that my feeling about trying to take her place had been wronged: I was not doing what she used to do.

That very day, as I was walking back to my apartments after dinner, quite relieved that it had all been well, I heard students talking about me, and wanting to avoid showing I had heard I was the subject of their chats, I just had to wait and listen. A part of me did want to hear, I assume… _'The new teacher is nice, isn't she?'_ asked a Ravenclaw 5th year girl whose voice was familiar enough to me so that I recognized one of the ones who had spoken during my class. _'Yes, she is! And she's pretty!'_ I smiled to myself thinking on how students were funny as the girl answered _'Oh Calvin! You are just unbearable…'_ These two would end up together I thought. But she went on. _'She is very good; I think we will be very well prepared to our exams.'_ I felt my heart beating harder and I blushed. It was just what I had wanted to hear, but it made me feel so uncomfortable! This feeling I wasn't worth McGonagall was still here. I was good, they thought. But I'll just never be as great as she was, and as a matter of fact I couldn't have born such a thing! I sighed trying not to do any noise: now, I knew I just couldn't move and be seen. It would be too embarrassing: maybe they wouldn't notice, but I was just moved. It wasn't the end of the conversation yet, and as they were still I was also. _'You are the good at school, not us, so if you say so…'_ said another masculine voice. _'Well, what I do personally think is that she is clever –this is so absolutely evident…- and really interesting. She's smart too… Makes me think a bit in McGonagall…' 'Do you think?'_ asked the young Calvin with a shocked expression. I was coming to feel rather bad, uncomfortable. The conversation was touching the subject that was so delicate for me. I might have been so ridiculous: a 50-year-old new teacher feeling bad because students were comparing her with their former teacher, and hidden behind curtains. _'Oh yes she does and she's right'_ added another feminine voice as I was praying that they would leave now. But the voice went on: _'And she says so because they both can be strict without being insensitive. They know their subjects, they are great witchcrafts. I mean, they are both different, I'm all right with this… but they have the same kind of charm.'_ I was dumbfounded, trying to find out if what I had understood was right or not; and I felt some memories wanting to take possession of my mind. I however fought even harder when a second after I heard the one named Calvin exclaiming with a laugh _'You are so excessively gay! Just don't tell me you thought McGonagall attractive or else I'll be sick for the next 24 hours. Granger at least, but her…'_ There were laughs as I realised it was just what I was thinking of, and as I just wanted to listen to the answering, forgetting I was spying and just feeling so strange that I wanted the answer, the answer came. _'All of you are so weird! I mean… it's not because them both are or were not young that they don't have a kind of attractiveness! I don't say I'm in love with any, or that I would have kissed McGonagall, or anything of that kind. I'm just thinking that the two of them have an aura which is very strong!'_ There were laughs once more as I fought hard against a kind of sickness. The girl added with an angry voice: _'All you guys are just unbearable! You find charm in a girl only when she's young and undressed: so machos! Just come with me Rosalyn, let's have the monkeys stay on they own...'_ I repressed a little laugh which had came and made me forget my wondering for a moment, and I saw the girl taking the hand of the one I thought was Rosalyn. They left, and a few minutes after, the others, in which were Calvin and his girlfriend to-be, were walking to their Common Room after one or too jokes about how gay these two were.

I walked like a robot to my quarters, fell on a sofa with a cup of strong tea, and closed my eyes. All this conversation they had innocently had touched me very deeply. It made me remembering things I thought had been forgotten! I wasn't shocked about the lesbian girls: I knew gays myself; one of the persons I liked best at the ministry was gay. No. It was just that their conversation reminded me my past wonderings. No one had ever heard about them, not even Ginny. I had tortured my own self with them, and even when I had had a clear conclusion, I still had asked myself some questions, sometimes. I felt the memories coming back, and this time I did nothing to prevent them from overwhelming me. I thought it could do me some good maybe.

The idea had come to me one night, during my 2nd year. I felt incredibly sad for some teenager's reason, and refusing to show it or talk about it, I was trying to find comfort in anything. I remembered that I had closed my eyes to prevent some tears from escaping their prison of delicate skin, and her picture had immediately come. I had sometimes, before, thought of her as a way to comfort me, trying to imagine her telling me that everything was all right. These had come to be quite classical awaken-dreams, but this time it occurred to me that they were a way to express a will I had to be part of her life.

From this idea, I had had a lot of moments of reflexions, and as I was half-lying on the couch, nearly hugging my cup of tea to stay calm and concentrate on the memories, I remembered the exact moment when I had suddenly had this crazy thought. It had then taken me more than four years to get sure that I was not in love with her. I was a simple teenager, my heart was at that time trying to construct its own self, and by the way I was building my personality as a future adult-being; so when I had understood how concentrated on her my mind was, the idea had come. It was a kind of obsession no one every knew of that I had about her: the want to see her and prove that I was worth her attention, the desire to know her better, to be part of her life, the exaggerated admiration I had toward her… It would have been credible for me to be in love with her; and that's just what this conversation had reminded me that day. All these wonderings that had been such a big problem for my teenagers' heart: they were not really back again, but they now seemed to have come to haunt me again, at night. I remembered how strange it had felt when I had thought of it at first. This, first of all, implied being lesbian. I wasn't homophobic at all, my parents had educated me with ideas of plurality, and it wouldn't have come to my mind to stop seeing someone because he or she was gay. No… But all this was theory, and discovering me as a gay person would have been a great shock. I was tolerant, I didn't feel it was awful to be gay… but there was this want to be 'normal'. I did not consider loving a woman as something fundamentally abnormal, but it wasn't the little husband of kids that I imagined as my future. The idea itself that if I was gay and could accept it my life would be very complicated was very present in my mind. Despise Harry's problems and the fact I had to defeat Voldemort before, I already dreamt at that time of a life being classical and in political correctness. It was when I was a child, still as the adult-teacher dreaming on the sofa, and it also is today, a particularity of my mind that I couldn't get rid of. I wanted to be accepted, and I wanted to be 'normal'.

The idea of being gay was as a matter of fact a bit of a problem of itself… But the fact is that I never tried to think too much about this: I was like occulting this problem from my mind every time it came to it. No, what I was concentrating on was the fact that this particular affection would be directed towards her! This affection, these obsessions… all seemed to lead me to this conclusion. I had often tried to imagine me kissing her. It looks odd and weird, doesn't it? Yes, I know… But what other possibility did I have to 'check'? It wasn't giving me very clear results, but… That was really what the teenage girl I was had. I remembered that it seemed to me that I wouldn't have been repulsed by such a thing, but it wasn't a true dream either. Whatever, it had taken me years to confirm that it wasn't love, but at least an admiration full of ambiguity.

The adult myself who was plunged in these memories while her tea was getting cold shook her head and sighed. It reminded me so many things. Being here made it all much more complicated, and this conversation between my students just was a kind of explicit expression of what I had wondered about all my school-years long. Of course at that time there was no question of such a feeling as 'love' about me… I drank the whole liquid just in one time, and breathed deeply. The fact they said I was a bit like her made me feel so strange also.

As I was standing again, I decided not to think too much in all this; and that the coming day I would go on with my researches. That was another big problem, but I would think of it later on. I didn't want to mix everything up. As I was falling asleep, my last thought came to the young Julia and her sad smile.

_He it is! So what is your opinion? Tell me about the story! What do you think of the plot? What do you think will come next? And also, you can tell me about the way I write, ask questions! Just tell me what you think :D_


	9. Is it the same again

_Ok, first of all, I simply just forgot to write it before, but if anyone is interested in beta-reading this, mostly in order to... erase most english awfulness, then, well, just MP me, or anything! I'd be honoured!  
_

_One more thing: I thank all the people who are reading this story. I hope you still like it (and of course am not against a review ^^) and I wish you a good moment in reading! So... here is the new chapter of this story, dealing with... many things! Kinda sad still..._

_Hope you enjoy!_

_Bergère._

**Is it the same again**_  
_

The next morning, I awoke slightly, trying to remember everything properly. I had taught for the first time in my life. I had taught her classes. I had. Incredible! But I had done it though; and I was to do it again on today; and then for the rest of the week; and then the following week. And then it would be over. And I would also supposedly have found out who was to be her heir. The two weeks were to be short, I thought.

On that day, I only had two hours of class, one with the 3rd years again, and another one with 7th years. Both were in the afternoon, and I decided to dedicate my morning time to my researches. I took a shower and put a pair of jeans on with the first tee-shirt I could find: now, I was going to work on my own and didn't need to think in what I wore. I thought I'd think of that later on, and I just asked Winky a few slices of bread. The house-elf was growing old, but had insisted on the fact that I would ask her if I needed something, and ask no one else. I did so, and that's why the elf appeared with her usual _'pop'_, caring a plate full of much more things that what I had asked for. I thank her very much; grateful that she was still so nice; and I remembered she hadn't had a gift for quite a long time. After a very hard time accepting she was free, she had got attached to me. _'I'm sorry I didn't offer you a single present for the next few years…' _I saw her smiling a shy smile, and when on._ 'Would you like something, especially since I'll leave her again in a short amount of time?'_

She looked at me, and before I could even think that this would happen, she began sobbing and big and painful tears flew out of her large eyes. I remained helpless for a few seconds, because I just couldn't understand why she cried: it wasn't anymore the time she got drunk because she had been fired; so, why? Moreover, for me, the beginning of the day had been quite good, and these tears next to me made me feel bad also. I knelt next to her, put a hand on her small waist, and asked with a low and gentle tone of voice: _'What's the matter Winky? Explain me…'_ The elf nearly fell on my shoulder, and after a few more sobs, she swept her tears away from her cheeks and looked at me with much distress. _'It's…'_ she tried, _'it's because professor McGonagall used to give me a little something for Christmas, and even for my birthday, and…'_ She couldn't go on, and after all I didn't need a single word more to understand.

I myself fell on the floor, or nearly. Now, I was incredibly sad; I shared her despair with mine. And I was also incredibly astonished: I would never have thought that she would do such a thing as buying a present to a free house-elf. I had even more respect for her (if I could possibly have more) now that I knew that… but now, she was dead. I began crying myself, and as I cried harder, my hands hiding my face, I could hear Winky sobbing less. It was now her trying to comfort me and not the contrary anymore. She placed her hand on my back and murmured some nice words, which I didn't dare to hear. They were empty, and after all, I was at loss of words. The silence sounded strange, and Winky broke it up with her little high-pitched voice. _'Don't cry…'_ But that was no use and she hesitated, stepped back a little, and glanced at me before adding seriously: _'There's one simple thing you can do for us both…'_ I looked at her in wonder, with my eyes that still weren't dry. I was very much like a teenager, being so sensible… but I really couldn't help it. My voice was broken and rough when I asked: _'What is it?'_ She had a cute shy smile, and her eyes seemed to be fixed on mine; but as she remained silent, I thought she would never speak. I thought I'd never know. She however told me: _'Find out what she wanted you to discover…'_ she paused, _'be what she wanted you to be…'_ She stared at me and disappeared: after hearing a '_pop'_, I saw she wasn't there anymore. I sighed… she was all right.

I wasn't really hungry anymore, but made an effort to eat a piece of bread, even if I was still having a hard time swallowing. Then, I tried to analyse what clues I had, and understood my helps were over: I had used all my cards, and I just had to do with my brain on my own. I burnt my list which was no use now, put all her letters in a same envelop after re-reading them (they were to be put in my childish secret-box on top of my cupboard). I was alone, sitting at the desk of my room, trying to find possible headmasters to-be. Who? Who would be great enough for this overwhelmingly hard and interesting task? I thought it was impossible to decide of such a thing, because no one was truly worth that job. But the fact was that someone had to do it, someone the castle had already chosen. And, whatever she'd said or not (because in the letters the information was unclear about whether she knew who I was looking for), I was convinced that she had died knowing very well the name… This name I was having such a hard time finding.

Taking a decision because I couldn't bear sitting there anymore, in the middle of my room, without truly working, I left everything in there and just walked to the portrait whose poem was kind of haunting me. I knew what it meant, now… I knew it, but I still couldn't resolve the problem it shared and enter the room. I felt like the solution to my problem was inside… but to get inside, I needed to solve the problem: that is to say everything was linked, and I was turning round. When I reached the large door protected by the painting, I glanced at it intensely and smirked ironically: now, I had moved from my room to here, and it didn't give me anything! I was still totally helpless.

I really wanted to find out: I was a very mature person (Thank Merlin, I was 50!) but about her, anything that had to do with her, I had remained a teenager, shaking in front of her judgement, desperately eager to get her approval! And the fact was that I had always been quite of a far away person for her; I didn't know her and never have, and all my dreams about having a kind of close relationship to her were not more consistent than shadows… oh! I'm just repeating the same words and ideas again. Sorry.

Everyone was telling me about my heart: following what it said, etc. I closed my eyes a few instants, but couldn't concentrate: the eyes of the man of the portrait on me drove me mad. He, also, was waiting for me to do something, anything. I shook my head and walked to her classroom, where I had taught. I would seat there: at a student's table maybe (I had seen her from there for 6 years, it had a sentimental meaning to me), and try to imagine who she would have chosen. Who, except all these perfect persons who would have been worth the job if not dead. The names were in my mind again: Dumbledore, Lupin, Snape… and her. Not Harry, Flitwick or Kingsley either, the portrait had been clear on the fact they weren't the chosen ones'. I was deeply in thoughts as my legs drove me naturally to the classroom I wanted to reach, when I heard the sound of a sob. My own eyes were dry now, but I still felt painful in the inside, and these tears made me feel bad again.

Who would be crying here, and why? As I was looking for this person, I saw a young teenager girl hidden in the shadow of a corner, her hands placed on her eyes so that I couldn't see her face, without even trying to prevent her tears from rushing. Without even hesitating, I approached: as I felt bad enough for the whole inhabitants of the caste, I didn't want any pain to survive in anyone else's eyes. Once in front of her, I knelt and placed a hand on her shoulder. As she was lost in her visible despair, she hadn't heard the sound of my steps: she tried to go away from me while opening her eyes and seeing me. Not even one second after, she had recognized me, and cried even harder. I had this disagreeable feeling that my presence was heartache to everyone, Winky at first, and now the little Finnigan I had just recognized. I sat on the floor and took both her hands on mine and then remained silent for a short amount of time, hoping she'll say something. She didn't, and I decided to begin the difficult conversation myself. _'What is the matter Julia?'_ She stared at me, and her eyes full of tears saddened me. She therefore answered with an abnormally high-pitched voice because of her feelings: _'I…'_ she seemed to hesitate as if afraid I'd laugh at her despair. I encouraged her with a confident smile, having an expression nice and serious all the same. _'She…'_

I felt like she was going to say something very important, and asked her if she wanted to talk in my office. She nodded and I helped her standing and walking to the room. I saw that, as she was entering the classroom and then the office (her office, professor McGonagall's office,) she looked at everything with a curious expression I couldn't define. Like if she was trying to picture it all in her mind. She sat as I did, and I asked if she wanted some hot tea which she accepted. As I opened a drawer, looking for handkerchiefs, I found the bow of her ginger biscuits and that was awfully strange. It was such a surprise to me that I thought I would cry again. I preferred not to put it on the desk and closed the drawer. This would have been too much for me to act naturally and listen carefully to what my pupil was going to say. I needed to be able to concentrate properly.

I breathed deeply and then looked at her again and encouraged her as gently as possible. She had a little cough, and while I answered her unpronounced question that I would never laugh at what she was going to say, she told me: _'It's just that she… she's dead and…'_ she paused. _'You're here and…'_ She then burst in tears again before adding between two sobs: _'…you see? So strange… dead…'_ I was dumbfounded and touched, moved: she was feeling just the way I felt and that was unbelievable… a really incredible thing. She certainly saw my expression and thought it was unclear in my mind because she added in wonder: _'you know who she is, don't you?'_ I forced myself into a pale smile and nodded, hoping she wouldn't see the sad light in the depths of my eyes: I had to comfort her, not fall into sadness. I hesitated on how to act well, how to help her –and my own self also by the way- without crying. I told her a few of these reassuring words which never make sense: she seemed to be just as sad as before, and I was totally helpless. I asked, _'Were you at the burial?'_ She just shook her head to indicate she hadn't been able to do so, and I felt it might be even more difficult for her to accept she was dead without having seen this event. But what was worse was this sensation of helplessness.

I felt a need and a will to tell her my feelings as they were, but I also knew I really couldn't. I however had to do something, act… I had to, for both of us I had to choose the right words, do the right things. I hesitated still. And, finally, I decided to tell her a little part of my story. Maybe it wouldn't comfort her right now, but I was absolutely certain that it would help her in accepting she was mortal. Yes, professor McGonagall was mortal…

I told her the story. A simplified and chosen story, but after all, my story… But, before doing so, I opened the drawer again and put the biscuits' box on the desk. I saw her eyes widen as I opened it and offered her one of them. She took one with a shy movement full of emotions and looked astonished at me, as I was fighting against both tears and feelings: I had to speak and tell her. _'Do you want me to tell you about something?'_ I could see that she didn't have a single idea of what I wanted to tell her about, but she nodded and a little flame of curiosity lightened in her eyes, chasing part of her sadness. That, at least, was a good point. I also hesitated between a personal way to tell her, or the fairy tale genre. But I chose the first one even if it meant that it was going to be even harder that way. _'I have always admired professor McGonagall much,'_ I said. It sounded so strange. And this only person to whom I was telling about my true feelings towards her was a 3rd year student. But I felt she deserved it, I could have confidence… and the future of the conversation confirmed it.

I told her about how, when young, I had always thought she was a great teacher, I had always been impressed by her means of teaching. She had always seemed to be a very interesting person, with her impressive knowledge. I told her that I did understand that it was difficult to have her being dead, even more if she also had seen part of her numerous qualities. In front of me, she was listening carefully, nodding as I talked. I took a biscuit in the box, made an effort not to shake as the smell of it reached my nose, and ate a little piece of it. She was waiting for me to go on, and I just couldn't stop here: my own tongue was running on its own. _'Did you ever talk to her, in here?'_ I asked, and I also pointed the box between us. She answered she had. I smiled a smile of understanding because I knew she would see what I meant. _'So you might know this box, don't you?'_ She nodded, and I could see she swallowed hardly just as I did. Was I that much like a teenager? I added: _'I never understood why she loved them that much…'_ Both of us smiled and we couldn't help a little and sincere laugh, in remembrance of the taste of the biscuit (a bit from the taste it had when she wasn't there), the way she asked –in a rhetorical way- if you wanted one, how it meant that she had something important or else personal to tell us. It was short but nice, and when it stopped I saw at the light in her eyes that she had confidence in me and that she felt a little better: I had quite succeeded. She seemed to hesitate half a second and then told me: _'Last time was next Friday…'_

Oh Merlin! It was so sad… Poor Julia might really feel bad. I wondered how she could be that strong –or at least look that strong (I mean that, if I personally had seen her the day before her death, I'd feel more than pain and melancholy) - and my expression was the one of wonder. _'She seemed all right… But now that I know I think it was visible…'_ Her voice expired in a sigh, and I felt a rush of admiration towards her. But more than anything my conscience was hit by the fact that I was an adult, I was the teacher… It was up to me to help her, and not listening to her pains. I just couldn't let her suffer with these memories without doing at least a little something. I now remembered how she used to do. She was always quite distant, but was very concerned about her pupils (even Slytherins, which was admirable!) and with her own manners found a way to make you feel better. Now it was my turn, and I had to find my way to assure my role. How?

A sudden idea came. A strange idea… I wasn't sure I had a real right to do that, but it also seemed to be the only possible thing to do. I closed the box with a little metallic noise, and gave it to her. She looked astonished at me: _'Take it,' _I said,_ 'it'll help you accepting, mourning…'_ I could see she was afraid but wished to take it as well. I decided to add: _'You can… it's no one's if it's not been taken already. The only untouched places are her quarters. In here, everything has gone where it had to go.'_ She therefore wasn't totally convinced. _'I was there when they read the will…'_ My voice was rough now and I was coming to have a hard time talking correctly. I knew what I had to do. It was as a matter of fact strange that this box was still here. Some books were the only remaining things, because they were waiting for the coming teacher to choose the books he would need to put the rest in the library. All the other objects had been moved here or there, apart from what her apartments contained. I actually wondered on who would dare to touch that place, like violating the sanctity of the place. And, whatever, this box was here, in my hands.

She seemed convinced because she had a movement to take the box, but stopped as her hand touched it. _'You?'_ she asked. I understood what she meant, and the answer came naturally. _'If it's no one's, you can take it. If it were mine I'd give it to you…'_ I breathed. _'I have other souvenirs of her…'_ And she finally took it with a smile. She was glad, and so did I: I had done my job… I sometimes regret in an egotist way not to have it still, but I know it was what I had to do.

She left and when I remained lonely in there I felt sadness coming back. I wanted to cry. This day, apart from this half-tainted conversation, was for the moment only made of tears and sad memories. I hadn't progressed either on my researches.

Sighing, I decided I would go home for dinner: I needed to see Ron, and was so eager to get comfort that I couldn't help a will to leave now. But for now I had class, I had a role to play.

_So here it is... just tell me :D_


	10. But what could I do?

_Hello! First of all, I have to accept that giving you this chapter in 2 weeks was a complete failor. I don't know how long it took, but most certainly a whole months. So (as always), I apologize for obliging you to wait that long! Also, I warn you that next chapter will certainly not come before the 30 of June, because I have exams, and I'll concentrate on preparing them and then passing them by!_

_Whatever, this is the following chapter. Much thoughts and descisions. I like it though. And, if anyone is interested in beta-reading, send me a message!_

_Have a good read, and thanks for reading of reviewing (to **Gin781** for the previous chapter!)_

_Bergere._

**But what could I do?**_  
_

Going home, for dinner, should have relieved me a lot and I should have been able to disconnect from my problems. This, sadly, was more of a dream, and I wasn't really feeling better at the end of the day.

I came home as soon as I could, just after telling Neville I was leaving. He had immediately nodded and I could say, but the sight of his face, that he was wondering about how I felt. I did feel very bad, and was looking forward to some peace. But, the thing I really didn't want to do was to talk about what was happening to me, what my problems were. To Ron I could, but Neville was not a close friend enough for doing this. That's why I was so glad that he didn't ask any question, and just looked at me that way: I don't know what I would have done if I had had to answer something.

When I entered my dining-room, I found both my husband and my best-friend talking. They were sitting in an armchair for Harry and in the couch for Ron, holding a glass of an alcohol I identified as Fire-whiskey, and I could see they were talking about some important matter. It wasn't something they usually did when both together, preferring to remind each other some memories of Hogwarts. But, this time, they were clearly preoccupied. I was a few meters away from them, but I could see Ron's cheek paler than usually, and Harry was brushing his hair again and again. Without trying to be discreet, I approached, and could catch a few words before they saw me. _'…you can't be serious?'_ asked Ron clearly in wonder while Harry was nodding. My curiosity was awoken by these words, and I said _'Hello'_ in order to tell them I was here.

Both immediately stood up, as if I had pronounced some magical order, and I could see Ron blushing as I asked what they were talking about. Both shook there head hard as Harry repeated it was nothing, some Quidditch matter. The way they were standing just as the expression on their face denounced them easily. Ron never knew how to lie to me. I really wanted to know what preoccupied them so much. So, I sat on the couch next to him, kissed him in a fast kiss on the lips, and explained them that I had decided to come home on today because I needed to cut of from Hogwarts and all this heir stuff. They were turning to be calmer, thinking that I hadn't heard or wasn't interested. I asked _'So, what was it? Tell me…'_ Ron opened his mouths to tell me that it was some Quidditch question but I didn't let him any time to try an improper explanation. I breathed, and decided to begin up the explanations.

_'Both of you will stop lying! I know you well enough to say that you were talking about some really serious matter. When it's Quidditch, your eyes are like lightened… this time, it was more like concern.'_ Both looked at their feet, clearly showing I had caught them lying. I could see Ron was just too shameful to think, and Harry seemed to be looking for the best thing to do. _'Your expression now also shows it might be about me so… Do tell me the truth!'_ Ron looked at me, and said _'Well, that's true we were talking about you but…'_ He just couldn't go on, because my 'charming' best-friend stopped him before he could reveal any compromising information. I sent him one of my best dark looks and was ready to answer something disagreeable when he touched my hand and told me _'Please, before yelling, let me explain. I'll tell you what I can…'_ I looked at him with curiosity as I could see Ron staring astonished and trying to ask him soundlessly what the bloody hell he was going to do: this sure wasn't prepared.

Harry took a deep breath and indicated to Ron not to interfere. _'I can't tell you everything because… Because… I just can't. However, I know you'll never abandon until you know the more you can learn. That is why I'll tell you what I can tell.'_ I nodded; waiting for something I feared would be dangerous, important. _'It's about this mission of yours. Yes, we have a kind of idea. I admit it.'_ Oh Merlin… I was now very eager to know: maybe they would give me a clue. Maybe it would even be this special clue I needed to open the locked door of the mystery. My eyes shinned a bit harder just before Harry went on. _'You know as well as I do that we can't tell you what our idea is but…'_ My smile saddened and a sudden need to cry overwhelmed me. I fought hard against it as he was going on _'…what we can do is giving you an advice and talking about where you are in your researches'._

Okay. That was really not what I would have liked to happen, but it was just what was possible, and I decided to satisfy myself with it. I asked in a little voice if he could tell me what he felt authorized to tell and he smiled, satisfied that I had accepted it so easily. However, as I listened, I felt incredibly tired and empty: this day should really have been erased. _'I can tell you to… follow your heart. And I can tell you that the answer is, according to both of us, nearer than what you think…'_ Why that, again? I couldn't bear it anymore. Why did people go on with sibylline explanations? Following my heart; it was nice, yes. I really was ready to do so… but what did it mean? What was it for? How could I do this? What was the bloody link between my feelings and the headmaster of Hogwarts? There wasn't. Or at least there was nothing clear; not one tiny little thing I could see and that'd be a first clue. The only clue I had was this reference to my feelings, my heart… I couldn't consider it as a true and proper clue. It wasn't.

Whatever, I nodded very slowly as they were silent again, and Ron, putting an arm around my waist (because he now was sitting next to me), was the one to break this silence. _'Do you want to tell us where you are in your… work?_' Again, I nodded, and he kissed me gently on the lips, very kindly. I breathed. Now that they asked this way, I understood that I really needed to talk about this: it really was too much. _'I found out that the entrance to her apartments won't open until I give the name of the future headmaster as a password. And I can't find out who it is. It's not Flitwick, and not Neville either.'_ I paused, they looked at me. '_I can't find what man is worth the job and…'_ I couldn't end up my sentence. Ron cut me and began _'And if it's…'_ But he couldn't go to the end of his explanation either, because Harry gave him a punch so that he remained silent. That really was great… As a result to this brilliant intervention of both my husband and my best friend, none of us began talking again for quite a long amount of time. That really wasn't what I would have liked to earn as a comfort by being back home.

Strangely, I didn't feel like I was going to cry. There were a lot of feelings fighting in my head, but… no coming tears. I was sad, but… not about to cry. Finally, Ron decided it was more than time to stop all this. _'I'm sorry… it's just that, if you believe we are true and we're not, you'll be horribly… disappointed.'_ That sounded quite like a good apology; and I knew that he wouldn't lie now. _'Whatever,' _he went on,_ 'can't you try as many names as possible until the door open.'_ Yes, I had thought of it, a little bit… but I definitely couldn't. It'd be, as I felt, unfair, a pure cheating. I couldn't cheat in such a matter, first of all because I didn't want to do so. I felt like all this was a kind of initiation, some quest I had to go through, before going stronger to normal life. If I cheated, even a little bit, it would change the whole thing, transform everything. Also, it'd also have been like betraying her.

Sorry, I think I already told you about all this. That's just… the memories being back. I answered, though, to what my husband had said. _'I can't… It's… I can't. It's like betraying her confidence and my mission.'_ Harry nodded. I had thought he'd understand easily, and I was true. And… that wasn't because my husband is narrow-minded, or anything of that kind. No, it's not for such a reason at all. It's just that Harry had a mission (much more important, and complex, and etc, I don't deny it), and he knows that sometimes you can't be biasing, you have to do something. And, it often happens that these are moral obligations. I could see that for a moment Ron didn't really catch why it was such a problem for me, but he didn't ask, and kept his wonderings for himself. I gave him a pale smile.

For a few seconds I hesitated, but decided that I could tell them about everything; everything but what I felt about her, really. I breathed, and began another explanation. _'Well, you see… The problem I have is that I can't go on. I can't because when, in my mind, I look for someone who could replace professor McGonagall and rule Hogwarts… I just think in dead people. Past friends…'_ My voice stopped in a sigh, and I saw Ron unexpectedly smiling. He kissed me, and told me: _'That's why I love you… you always think in things so well. Sometimes, it makes things harder… but that's still great of you.'_ I thought that for me, that was why I loved him: because he knew how to be so kind. Still, I sighed. Harry coughed a little. He seemed to be hesitating. In wonder, I looked at him, raising an elbow.

_'Who… who do you think in?'_ Oh… that was it. I knew he still felt guilty, sometimes, about the numerous deaths that were the cost of the victory. Of course, he wasn't responsible for them, and he on the contrary had saved a lot of us. That was worth an answer. _'Well, of course, the first I think of are Dumbledore and McGonagall herself.'_ They nodded, that was logical. Actually, that was a bit of a lie: I thought of her more than of Dumbledore. Maybe because I had had enough time to accept his death or… I don't know. _'And then I think in Snape, and Lupin. The others are like secondary.' _'_I understand'_, Harry said. _'I mean, I understand why you think in them both for such a matter.'_ Ron shook his head to show he was okay. Once more, we remained silent.

Finally, I was the one to break it. _'Sometimes, I feel like it's going to drive me mad…'_ I looked at them both. They were listening, but I could tell that they couldn't go in what I said. Whatever the attention they paid, it was impossible that they would see what I meant. I was too much in my thoughts and my feelings: somewhat in another world they couldn't reach. It was pure soliloquy that this conversation. I finally didn't care that much, because I just needed things to flow out: the illusion of an auditory was largely enough for me to be satisfied. It was… well, it was just talking and putting things into an oral expression. That was all. And they listened and nodded, while my words entered and exited their minds before they could catch their meaning. My husband hand was holding me tight, and that was also all I needed: a presence, to put me out of my loneliness. Of course, their lack of reaction wasn't what I had dreamt of… but at least they weren't contradicting me. It happened to be a good point.

Harry left around midnight, saying that Ginny was going to kill him. I gave him a pale smile and made him swear not to tell her about my misfortunes and my problems: I didn't want her to get worried about me. She was a great friend… but I didn't feel like telling her. Whatever, Ron and I went to bed, and he fell asleep in a few instants. My husband had always been that way… sleeping anywhere, anytime. It made me smile a bit, but then I spend a whole hour turning round in my bed. I couldn't find a way to fall asleep, and it made me feel awfully nervous. I thought about things again and again. The girl crying, what she had said; and there were also my memories of professor McGonagall. Unable to bear it anymore, I finally got out of the bed as discreetly as possible, and walked to my kitchen. Automatically, I put some orange juice into a glass, drank it, and sat in a chair, looking at the walls of the room. My mind was still floating from an idea to another, and I knew I couldn't sleep, but that I couldn't empty my mind either. Sighing, I decided to go upstairs and take a look at the box. I, actually, used it whenever I felt helpless. Like a last possible way to remain in here.

Trying not to awake Ron (and that was actually unlikeable), I put all the charms out and accioed the box. I walked downstairs again, and sat in the very same chair. Opening the box, I breathed deeply. It had no particular fragrance, but to me, this air was different from the outside atmosphere. I know (and already knew) that it was purely psychological, but I couldn't help it. On the top, there were the letters I had received not two weeks before. Also, there were the letters of my admission to NEWT without even passing them by, and the green-inked letter of admission to Hogwarts; but I hadn't any copy of her will yet. I got it months later. Whatever, I put all these things out: I knew them very well, and it wasn't what I needed now. I needed something new. The next thing in the box was a piece of the _Daily Prophet_ that I had kept ever since… years. Yes, I'd take a look at this.

_"Today, happened one of the most harsh and painful events in a few days. Professor Albus Dumbledore, famous all over the world and headmaster of Hogwarts, was buried in the garden of the school..."_ And then there was a picture, and pages that would give more information. I remembered that day now. It had been a difficult moment to live, also, but not as terrible as her burial: very different actually. Basically, no Official had had the shameless behaviour of doing a speech during his funeral.

Whatever, I tried not to concentrate on her burial, and looked carefully at the picture. I couldn't remember why this was with my souvenirs of her. The photo mainly showed the burning marble in which his body was now disappearing. I remembered it had been painful. But it was so far ago that I had forgotten part of the pain and the sadness. Most of it was now just a vague remembrance. As I took a closer look to the picture, I understood why it was in the box. She was on it, in all the dignity of sadness, the dignity of pain, the dignity of her self. My heart started beating harder, and I understood that taking a look at the box surely wasn't the right thing to do if I wanted to sleep and be up in the morning in order to be back at Hogwarts. I had no class on Wednesday, but I had said I'd be back in the morning: I had to be. Whatever… it was too late now that I was plunged in the memories that this photo shared, and I glanced at her image with all the intensity I could put in it.

I think it was the only picture I had of her. Her portrait would appear in the headmaster office once there'd be a new one, and I of course had no picture of her person. That is to say that it was the only thing I had on her physical self other than my memories. Memories or known to be unclear, they are huge liars but they know how to hide their lies so well that we don't see the subterfuge. Wizard's pictures, moreover, have this unbelievably great advantage that they keep the image and the movement: she seemed to be completely alive in it. Whatever, on that picture, she was seating in the first rank, next to Scrimgeour. She seemed to be softly biting her lips, slightly, discreetly, like if she was trying to pull out her feelings. I remember thinking that she might have been preventing herself from crying. That was surely the truth. She was seating as straight as possible, and she was giving the impression that no feeling was ruling her heart. Her face was quite neutral, hiding her pain and her sadness behind a mask of indifference and complete coldness. I know, I knew, and even the day of the burial I had known, that she was herself overwhelmed.

To me, losing her had been like being separated from a model, a mentor. I had always thought that he was a bit hers. But, she had had the privilege to know him well, to work with him for years. I doubted none that they were close friends. And now, he was disappearing for ever in a round of flames. How terrible! As I looked at the picture, I felt sorry for her. But she was able to keep her role, though. Maybe it was imagination, but it seemed to me that in her eyes, there was the painful light of understanding. No wonder that burials always had this kind of effect on people: you are hit by the fact that it's the last farewell, the complete adieu.

I was sitting with the empty glass in my crisped hand, completely absorbed in my contemplation, and the idea came. I had to do this; it looked like the best I could manage. I would go at the tomb with the young girl, Julia. We would just take a look at it. It was what had to be done. After that, she'd be able to earn conscience of the reality of death. Her bloody true and real death: I hated to admit it, but I had accepted it. Not well, not without regrets… but it was clear to me that she was dead.

I went to bed, the glass still on the table, feeling much better because I was going to do something good. Something I feared, but which was still a good thing to do. Really: I was convinced of it, and finally could find a way to fall asleep. That was it.

_Here it was. Tell we whatever what your opinion is! _

_Thanks a lot!_


	11. Who she is, who she was

_Hi everybody!_

_Here's chapter 11. I especially fancy the very beginning and the end! Please, do tell me what you think: even if you don't like, give me a review. Also, tell me if there are any language mistakes. I may soon have a Beta, but there's still none for the moment! And, by the way, thanks to **Alena-Minerva** for her review!_

_So, here it is, have a good read I hope!_

_Bergère.  
_

**Who she is, who she was**

Professor McGonagall. Professor Minerva McGonagall… her name says it all. There's nothing to add, nothing to say when her name has been pronounced. To me it's just perfection. Her name is perfect in all senses, just as she is.

Her name is both rough and smooth. Its sounds are delicate and strong. The initials are just showing that perfection: M.M. Nothing to add either. The movement of you lips when you pronounce the M. is just the very same that you have when you eat. You get it, and the M. enters your self as you say it. It's profound and it takes you. It even rules you, and you can't resist it. Resist the M, her M. Mrs Minerva McGonagall. It sounds so different than Professor McGonagall. Both have their power and beauty… The Mrs is the unsaid and unused one. Who ever named her that way, Mrs Minerva McGonagall? All wizards knew her as a teacher, because so much had been in her classes, sitting at a student-table and learning Transfigurations. That name of Mrs has a kind of exotic thing. On her grave, there's no Mrs written. That is even different. Some impersonal way to talk of her: so near without anything else than her name, that it looks far away. Minerva McGonagall.

Professor McGonagall has another meaning. It's… severe and impressive. Such a name obliges you to stay there, to look for the one who shares such a name with herself. There's Scotland in this name; but also the proud title of teacher. The origins and the role are matched together. That's great; so great. I remember, even as the old woman I am, the day I saw her. Her way to behave and this name biting the air and taking all the emptiness there was: _'I am professor McGonagall…'_ she had said. Yes. She was professor McGonagall in all the complexity and the importance that such a name meant. Her name was as large as she was tall, as meaningful as she was giving sense to her words. Just… she was just her.

Minerva. It sounds so strange. I never named her that way. Never, not one little try to say her first name. It was forbidden: the forbidden sound, the forbidden name. Anyway… that's a bit of a romantic idea. Even if I wasn't so fond of her, I would find a power in such a name. Minerva: goddess of intelligence, of pure cleverness. The right side of Apollo: that's what she is. That's what her name means actually. I never knew anything about her, but there's at least one thing on which they did the perfect choice: the name they gave their daughter. It suits her perfectly. Cleverness, wisdom are her whole person. Perfectness also characterizes her. Her name, she _carried it like a golden aura as lightly borne as a cloak of Athena tossed over a favoured mortal for protection on the battlefield_. She was a favoured human being, and she carried her name unaware of its power just as she behaved unaware of her greatness. She didn't need anything else that her own self to survive on the battlefield of life; on the true battlefields also. She knew she was really strong, someone good… but I doubt she was aware of how much she was great even if there was a lack of the _myriad daily glances of admiration(*)_ she would have deserved. Her aura was a hidden one, though incredibly powerful.

I'm awfully sorry… I couldn't prevent myself from writing this hyperbolic panegyric. It was… something I needed to do. These assertions are immortal, they remain now, they were true when she was alive, they were true at the time of the story I'm telling now. Her perfectness doesn't change with time.

I do assume that what I just said is exaggerated. Don't overreact. Yes, I confess. It is true, I believe, I assume, that what I said is too much; totally unreasonable. Let me tell you that it doesn't matter a bit. It has no importance. Not even the tiny little beginning of an important point. I'm writing what I feel. And, to me, her name shares such significance; and, to me, she is _that_ great: really, without a lie.

Anyway: let me go on with my story. I'll talk about her perfection later on. On the following day, I went to the Gryffindor Tower and found Julia. Asking her to follow me (and ignoring the questioning looks of her comrades), I asked if she'd like to go and see her tomb with me. Her eyes narrowed, she seemed to hesitate for a short moment; but then she nodded, and tried to smile. It was quite understandable though. We stood there for a moment as I was waiting for her to do something, and as she was waiting for me to say something. That could have lasted quite long. But I finally just smiled and left after telling to meet me at 6 in front of my quarters. She nodded, and that was it.

She knocked just on time, and as I opened the door I saw her sad look. I think she was a bit afraid, or something of that kind. I didn't know if she had went near the grave already: maybe she hadn't, and it'd be an even more important moment for her. I told her to wait for a minute, and I just took my coat and joined her in the corridor. We walked to the Entrance Hall, and then went outside. It wasn't cold, quite hot actually… I didn't even know why I had taken this coat: like a reflex, a habit I think. I still don't know why though. I haven't thought of it for years. We walked to the lake.

I was a bit tensed, and I could feel that she was too. It was very understandable, of course. I didn't even try to tell her to calm down: it'd have been no use, and I knew that she would feel calmer because of her, or never. My words wouldn't change this a bit. Maybe the grave or the story would. But surely not sentences like _'keep calm'_. I knew, by experience, that they change nothing in the best cases, and make you feel even worse in the worst cases. We were about 10 meters from the lake when I decided it was time to ask the question. I had thought of it all the way to the grave, and I couldn't help asking. After all, it was a logical question, a rational one. There was no bad in wondering about it.

_'Have you already seen the grave?'_ She stopped all movements for about two seconds and breathed deeply, as if answering cost her much. For a moment, I felt guilty about asking, nearly ashamed. It maybe wasn't a good idea as a matter of fact. It was to late anyway, and as she responded I believed that an enormous weight I was unaware of left my stomach and my chest and I could breathe again. _'Well… I tried once but… I… It's just I felt I couldn't. It was too much. I didn't…'_ She sighed. _'It was like I didn't deserve it, it was a forbidden place.'_ I simply nodded and remained silent (because helpless) for a moment. We were very near the two white pieces of nearly-sacred marble and none of us moved a bit. I just didn't know what to answer to what she had said. Actually, I suddenly became conscious of the fact that she was a very mature thirteen of fourteen year old girl when I was a very childish (and kind of romantic, in the 19th century way) old woman of almost fifty. Quite depressing actually. The young Julia didn't seem to be aware of such a thing: she was looking at me, visibly confident and believing that I was wise and reasonable, which I didn't consider as true.

As I finally came to my mind, I shook my head a bit too violently, and it's a hand on my aching neck that I said, in a kind of whisper, louder than murmurs usually are: _'I see what you mean, but… If there were a question of deserving you'd deserve it I'm sure. Plus I doubt none that professor McGonagall would've been glad that people come for showing there (more and less past) attachment and respect.'_ She didn't answer. She just blinked and remained unmoving. I, so, decided it was time to face the thing, and began walking again to reach the marble stone. She followed quite reluctantly, still looking quite ashamed and frightened.

We stood before the grave, both fixed on the few words engraved on it: _'Minerva McGonagall, October the 4th, 1925-June the 10th, 2027.'_ And that was all. Julia seemed to hesitate between asking something or not, but finally couldn't help it and looking at me, she let her question slip out –with a immediate gesture showing she already regretted it- : _'102 years old?'_ She seemed really puzzled by such a number. I must admit that it also sounded strange for me. She had always appeared so young (in comparison to her age), so vivid and strong… I knew, however, that these ages were quite often reached by wizards. Not that they lived two hundred years… no. Just that most wizards died at something like 100 years old, when it was more like 70 for muggles. Anyway, it was a bit surprising, and it also gave a kind of reality to her life and her person. I had always thought her so untouchable, that just a date of birth seemed derisory. I would always feel rather strange regarding the 4th of October from now, and it's still true. It's important and just uninteresting all the same.

The girl waited, once more. _'Wizards tend to live long, you know. Look at Dumbledore for instance…'_ She simply nodded, not even taking the pain to take a look at the other grave, next to McGonagall's. As a matter of fact, she was deeply concentrated and I suspected her of being lost in memories, which was quite understandable. We were standing like this, staring at the grave and living our remembrances again. It was up to me now. I began to talk, but my voice was rough and I could hardly speak normally. I coughed a bit, clearing my throat as I felt ashamed of such a ridiculous thing in such a complex and sentimental moment. _'Well, you know, I don't have much memories of the burial I'm afraid. I just… I think I was too depressed to feel.'_ She nodded: what could she add to that? As I tried to tell her, I understood that I just couldn't, just because I didn't remember a bit of the speeches, of the gests of the preacher, of anything. My memory was made of short flashes, and I mostly remembered my feelings, but nothing more. And then, it jumped to the will and so on. But it wasn't the subject now. Not anymore.

I remained silent for a moment, thinking about Dumbledore's burial. I could tell her about that, but it had no interest. And I didn't feel, personally, like changing subject. I was desperate (my mind and spirit truly were), I was sad. I quickly looked at the whole garden and the countryside that surrounded the castle. And the memory hit me with the idea. The sad story, the terrible night, the unforgettable moment: I was to tell this. Like the horrible and desperate tale it was.

_'Do you want me to tell you about something?'_ She murmured a small yes, and without thinking, I sat on the grass, ready to talk. Ready to plunge in the pains of my fifth year, I was like floating in an ocean of mixed up memories. Oddly enough, I didn't feel the urge to cry. That'd come, I thought: I doubted it none, knowing how I felt.

_'When I was in 5th year,'_ I began, _'there was a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher sent by the Minister. At that time, I don't know if you are aware but your Uncle might have told you about that, the Minister refused to accept that Dumbledore was true about Voldemort's return.'_ I paused and smiled as I saw she didn't react to his name. _'That's good you don't shake at his name._' She looked at me, and seemed astonished: it appeared to be normal for her that one shan't react violently to a name. _'Why would I?'_ _'Because,'_ I said, _'everyone did (and they were even more afraid: if you're frightened by the name, you'll be by the person) and I know lots of people still do.'_ She nodded silently, and finally answered. _'You know, my mother is a muggle, and my father died when I was young.'_ _'I'm sorry,'_ I said. I hadn't suspected that of course. But, well I hadn't talked to Seamus for quite a long amount of time (and I didn't even knew he had a younger brother) and I remembered quite well that he had been against Harry for a while. In that particular year actually there had been a huge conflict and, well…

I couldn't go on in my thoughts because she answered. _'Don't be. I don't even remember him… But, still, that means that I spent a lot of time with Uncle Seamus. And he told me a lot about the war, and his school years and so on. They were my night-tales, you know, when I was a kid.'_ She smiled palely as she thought back in the past. I couldn't help thinking it was because in this past, there were no wonderings about professor McGonagall's live or professor McGonagall's death. _'He used to say –and he still does- that he, himself, had sometimes hesitated whether he could believe Harry Potter or not… But he said also that he was glad he finally had chosen the right side. And he always named Him by his name, because he said he had to.'_

I nodded, and for a moment I didn't answer. I was lost in thoughts. And at once, one of her rare defaults appeared clearly to me: she never really said his name. And when she reluctantly did, there was a kind of frighten air in her tone of voice. Of course, I had done the very same for a long, very long, amount of time. But I wasn't her. And that changed everything: I hated to know of her weaknesses. I hated to accept she wasn't perfect. I still hate it: I'm rather too enthusiastic on her person. Anyway, it took me a few instants to blow these ideas away as I nodded unnaturally long. '_I see,'_ I said. And, somewhat, I was kind of proud of Seamus… and it was comforting to see some true feelings: most people had adored him at Voldemort's death, hated him with Skeeter, then loved him for ending up killing He-Whom-They-Refused-To-Name, and now just loved to hear of him because he had went to a muggle supermarket or any silly thing of that kind.

She just didn't add anything and so I decided to go on. _'Well… and this woman that everyone highly hated was made High Inquisitress. And we had no proper classes to learn defence, so that we create the DA. Seamus might have told you about this too…'_ She nodded and answered: _'He just said that the name was made so that she drove mad… and he refused to tell me more because it wasn't a good example to follow.'_ Under normal circumstances, I think I would have laughed… we all had a bit of the same reaction towards children, ours or others. But, oddly enough, it made me feel even sadder. Because I was face to face with her grave, maybe, and that it seemed incredibly out of the way. I breathed very deeply before going on: _'I'll tell you a bit about it at once, if you wish.'_ She shook her head to say she'd like it. _'So… And even teachers were against her. Knowing she nearly tortured kids, it's quite normal...'_

I breathed again, looked at her; and suddenly it came to my mind that what I was to say didn't make sense. Why would I tell her this? And it would seem so strange. _'And… I don't even know why I wanted to tell this to you. It's just… No way, forget about it.'_ She looked at me with a nearly depressed expression, and as I entered a state of passive contemplation of the sky, she said in a shy and praying voice. _'What was it?' 'Nothing',_ I said. _'Please, tell me,'_ she insisted. And then she was silent again, leaving me to my thoughts. _'It'll seem really odd you know. There's no point in it and…' 'I don't mind.' _I looked at her for a moment. I hesitated, and finally said that to her: _'If you're sure… but it deals with… It deals with professor McGonagall.'_ Her expression didn't really change as I said her name. There was just a light of sadness mixed up with curiosity that now was gleaming in her eyes. She was clearly both eager to know and afraid of what it'd be. _'It's not happy either,'_ I added so that she knew what she was to go through. She just nodded, once more. It seemed to be long dialogues without many words. I just said _'Ok'_ and I truly began what I wanted to say, as if all this had just been an introduction.

_'It was on the night during which we were passing the Astronomy OWL. We were all basically doing our charts and answering questions about the sky. And, suddenly, there was a sound down there, in the… Can we name it a garden? Well, down, near Hagrid's house.'_ She nodded, I think, but I'm not even sure. I didn't see her. I was immersed in my own feelings, and my skin was cold while my head seemed to burn, just as it had at that time. But it wasn't because of what happened, but because of the anticipation of the memory. I knew what would come, even if it was only a kind of tale, based on reality. I feared, for a moment, to change things if I was too based on feelings, but couldn't help it. _'Oh,'_ I added, _'I forgot to tell you Dumbledore wasn't here at that time, Umbridge –the High Inquisitress- was playing quite bad the Headmistress. Professor McGonagall tried to prevent her from doing too much bad.'_

I could say that she was wondering on what I was going to tell. At that time I already tended to do a lot of digressions in my talks, even more when the subject was delicate. This time, it was awfully delicate.

_'My memories are a bit vague, but I remember of Umbridge arresting Hagrid, professor McGonagall protesting, the Minister himself… All this at the very same time, with aurors all around: it was a bit of a mess. And,'_ I went on, _'there was this awful confusion all around. No one was paying attention to the sky anymore.'_ She looked at me in a way that meant 'I imagine so,' but she didn't speak. She seemed to be completely concentrated on my words, just as I was. _'And, suddenly –there certainly was logic in it, but I don't remember everything and we simply couldn't hear everything-, there were Spells being cast and a rumour of noise all around. People were all looking at the ground, trying to sort things out. And,'_ I said, but felt obliged to pause. I was coming to it. My throat was strangely dry even if I knew it wasn't so much of an important thing. It was so ridiculous, telling her this… I was living my memories again though, and it had an unexpected intensity.

For a moment, I thought about stopping the tale. But I couldn't because she finally looked at me and, with a worried look, asked: _'And?'_ I nodded for my self, breathed and just accepted that it wasn't the end. _'And they exchanged a multitude of Spells, the Ministry men casting them on her. She received them all: 4 Stunning spell at the very same time.'_ My words beat the air, and I was conscious of their lack of meaning but was nearly shaking however. Merlin, how strange, odd, weird, and so on! She seemed puzzled, and that was normal, knowing I was lost in my memories and that my words didn't share what I felt they would share. _'Well, that was just… so strange and terrible. That day, I-we thought she'd die…'_ The word _dying_ had a very strange sound when it went from my mouth and was linked to her. But that day, she hadn't died. A pale smiled imposed itself on my lips as she stared at me more and more astonished.

_'I told you it wasn't so important and surely not interesting…'_ I hesitated. _'That was just frightening. And I just wanted to tell you because of this…' 'What for?'_ she asked, because she simply couldn't understand. My words were following my thoughts, and they were complex. _'It was like a sort of… prefiguring of her death, I think now.'_ She stared at me obviously dumbfounded, and so I added: _'It's not really important if you don't see what I mean. I just thought it'd be good to tell you.'_ _'Okay,'_ she just said, and we remained here, sitting on the grass.

Finally, as we were silent, she stood up as she told me that she had to go because the Quidditch team of her house was training and she had to go and see. I smiled at her, told her it of course was all right with me, and she left. I was now alone; I also got on my feet and glanced at the grave several times before fixing my eyes on its sight and getting lost in my thoughts. I remembered that episode of my life, which had been so traumatic, and I remembered how my whole person had stopped everything –except aching- when I had seen all the lights touching her; and the way my heart was driving mad as she fell on the ground. It had been… horrible. I was watching these images like a movie in the deepest part of my mind, and I nearly was shaking.

Soon, however, my thoughts changed subject. It wasn't only the sad parts of my memories that came back. I remembered her, alive. I remembered a vivid, falsely stern and rigid woman, hiding a heart under the mask of coldness. I remembered her step, her voice, her ways… It was like if I was painting a moving portrait of her, very much like the wizard-paintings where the drawings moved. I was playing short bits of a movie where she was starring, alone.

I thought once more of her perfectness to me; and an idea came to me.

She had been a model in an intellectual sense, but I saw know that she corresponded to what I named feminine beauty. Not being pretty or cute, no; but what the word beautiful really meant for a woman. It was an esthetical judgement, knowing I always was attracted to men; and she corresponded to my type like a model is the type a painter tries to reproduce perfectly. Sometimes, this model doesn't even exist, and the painting tries to produce her. I never knew how to paint, but I had a physical model, an existing one. Never before had I been aware of that, and that's something I learnt at the age of 50, and I'm still convinced of it.

As her name meant something, her physic was what I thought would be the physic of a beautiful woman. This reality hit me, and I walked back to the castle thinking of it. As I reached the entrance, I felt even more aware of her perfectness, and I was more and more convinced that I had to find –and that I would. I reached my quarters, and without even entering turned to go in front of the grumpy portrait, trying to think.

_(*) Well, that was just to write the reference. Bothe italic phrases are from a Carol Oates short story named **The Mutants**!_

_Now, just tell me: the green button is here for this :D_


	12. An idea of truth

_Hi to you all! Here it goes!  
_

_I hope you'll like it... and tell me please! I haven't had a review for the next chapter! That's too bad! Anyway, please do it :)  
_

_Have a good read! Bergère._

**An idea of truth**_  
_

For about a week, I concentrated deeply on both the classes and the unknown headmaster to-be. I was very serious on everything, wanting to do everything well and willing to find out as soon as possible. I immersed myself into a climate of research and I nearly stopped thinking about her death. I was fixed on my goal, and happened to erase from my thoughts, for a while, that it came from the fact she was dead. This idea was floating all around me, but didn't dare to touch me (I didn't dare to let her do so), and this let me the capacity to think in a proper way.

And, that's after that period (during which I have to admit I didn't learn anything!) that everything changed. I was correcting some homework (I didn't grade it, but that way, they could be trained), and my ideas began to concentrate on something else than the 5th years essays. I was thinking in wisdom, and I don't know how, my mind finally reached the idea of Albus Dumbledore. His image was floating in my thoughts, and I had a sudden idea. Even though that's not so important, I can't help remembering that moment gratefully; maybe because it led me to the solution.

So, as I was thinking in him, vaguely lost in the memories of my childhood (even though it wasn't precise), it hit my mind. I had someone to talk to! Someone whose seldom could certainly help me! I doubted he'd give me the solution simply (even during his life, he only spoke by questioning answers), but I was sure that he'd give me a clue. I put my pen back on the table; I stood up, and headed to the headmasters' –headmistress'- office in order to have a little talk with past Albus Dumbledore. Or, more likely, to have a talk with his portrait!

I walked upstairs: the stairs were opened to everyone (or maybe it was because I was said to be authorized, I still don't know). I entered the empty office. It was silent, all around. A strange kind of silence; an unnatural kind of silence. It was really as if someone was about to enter that place, talking, laughing, speaking of an important matter to officials, or simply talking to a student. I remember being unable to repress a smile while imagining her entering that place half-running, and laughing… in this imagined image, she look much younger than when I had known her. I shook my head, and walked to Dumbledore's portrait. The painting of the blue-eyed wizard was looking at me with great interest, with a little smile: he acted towards me just as his living self acted towards the teenager I had been.

The place remained silent for a little while, and then he looked at me and smiled: _'Mrs Granger-Weasley, how are you?'_ I knew he would talk, of course: I was here for that! But it surprised me! I couldn't help it. I stared at him for a moment, and then answered. _'Hum… yes. And you?'_ He laughed _'You know I don't have many problems myself. Well… except you!'_ I looked at him very astonished, and then I understood. I stood before him, unsure of everything.

_'I wanted to talk to you,'_ I stated. _'I guessed so,'_ he answered, _'just take a seat.'_ I nodded and sat in the nearest chair. _'So, what's your question? Even if I'm aware it's about Minerva's heir, I believe you have something more précis, haven't you?'_ I stared at him and flushed a little. Actually, I had come here with an impulse, and I didn't have a clue of a question I'd ask. I wanted an advice, some help (any kind of help,) but… I had no precise question, no. _'Hum… __Truth is I came here for…,'_ I began laughing, thinking about some way to tell him. As he looked amazed but not badly, I decided to try out. _'I hoped you could tell me some of your sibylline sentences in order to help me finding out… because I don't doubt you know who I'm looking for!'_

He began laughing. It was gentle, and I didn't feel offended a bit… Actually, I was the one telling him he only said sibylline things! He then blinked, having stopped laughing; and looked at me with this X-ray look that made you believe he read the bottom of your heart; and strangely enough, that was true even though he was dead. _'You're true Mrs Weasley…'_ I couldn't repress it and asked: _'How do you know?'_ His smile expanded, and he just said: _'Did you truly believe Minerva didn't tell me about the news! I know, of course I do.'_ I nodded, and he went on. _'I know, but as you said it very well, I can't and won't simply tell it. I can give you a clue; that is for true. Do you want it?'_

I stared at him as if he had gone mad. Of course I wanted it! Why would I have come if I didn't want to listen to him? Really, I thought he would always surprise me with his ways. It seemed so logical to me that I wouldn't even have asked. _'Yes, I do.'_ He gently smiled to me before telling me. He liked to have a little suspense before delivering the information he had. However, it didn't last too long. _'Try to think in a larger way. You have to think not only in a strict and little space: open your mind to a full sight of the world. Enlarge your vision.'_

After that, he stopped and smiled. It took me a few seconds to sort out what it could mean: just think in more than the simple limits of the people I knew personally, of the friends. Apart from that… I looked at him: _'I won't have anything more precise, will I?' 'No, you won't,'_ he just said. _'But I'm sure you can find with this.'_ Even if I weren't convinced, I nodded and lost myself on ideas mixed up with his words. I think I was not clearing things at all, but truth is that I tried hard: his words were inextricable, but I could feel, deeply inside me, and even more strangely somewhere in the depths of my magic, that the answer was here. Dumbledore remained himself, there was nothing to say.

As I was thinking intensely, he interrupted me: _'Take a lemon drop.'_ I stared at me: he had been dead for so long that his love for sweets had slip out from my mind. I was surprised. _'She kept some… or maybe there are only ginger biscuits, take a look!'_ I did as he asked, and took a biscuit. It tasted the very same as the one I had had in _her_ classroom (it couldn't possibly be considered as mine!) with Julia Finnigan; but it was different too, because I didn't feel sad, and strangely not even moved. It was like a calm moment for my troubled-soul. Truth is that it has been the last serene moment I've had for the next few days. Because… the idea struck me!

As I was ending up my biscuit, it hit me suddenly, and the words of people had a sense. The idea of enlarging my ideas, but also searching in the very bottom of my heart, because it wasn't logical! It wasn't logical, but it was totally, in another way. It depended on the point of view. I stood up in a second, and I thank Dumbledore: _'It's him! Of course! Thanks a lot!'_ and I left. He had a kind of indulgent smile. At first I didn't understand it, because I was too self-convinced! Dear Merlin, I had found out! It was incredible, I felt so glad! I wasn't sure I was glad it was him… but it was sure that being sure of who it was that made me feel incredibly well. Just like a teenager, I ran through the castle as fast as I could: I wanted to enter the room, now I had the answer! I wanted to tell everyone! It was over, I had accomplished my mission, and I had succeeded!

I finally reached the portrait. The man looked at me reprovingly as I hardly breathed and swallowed to feel better again: I had put all my energy in this sprint. I waited a little, staring at the portrait with a smile that certainly was idiotically printed on my face. How great, how… I wanted to enter, but still, I wanted that idealistic and chimerical moment to last eternally. I felt so good, so confident: I didn't even need it to be confirmed! I was delightfully looking at the painting: as soon as I'd want it, it would open, and I would never hear that silly poem again.

I don't know how long I remained there, but I finally decided it was time for the dream to end and the joyful reality to take place. I humidified my lips, and as I felt my heart beating hard in my chest, I pronounced it. _'Draco Lucius Malfoy.'_ But the door didn't open as it was supposed to; the man didn't smile a bit.

Before it began to tell the bloody poem again, I let my self fall in the ground, my back against the cold stone. It wasn't that. All the possible deception fell on my shoulders: I was angry at the whole world, and especially at me. How could I have been so stupid to believe I had suddenly found… The smile of Dumbledore made me think that he had found out what my idea was, and knew it wasn't that. All this anger slip out immediately and, half-yelling, and hitting the floor with my hand (making it ache), I said something like _'Bloody fucking hell, you are stupid Hermione Jane Granger-Weasley!'_ And I began to sob. They were profound sobs, in the silence I could hear them repeating quieter and quieter each time.

To say truth, they were desperate sobs: all the deceptions and sadness I hadn't felt during the whole week was on me again. Was I that stupid? Yes, I was. I imagined her face, her so rare smile fading: I was not able to fulfil my duties. How pathetic I was! I hated my self and my incapacity. I cried again and again in the empty corridor where no one would come.

I hated life. I even hated her, because she was dead and I had deceived her.

I was lost in my pains.

I was so lost in my pains that I didn't understand at first. There was something non-habitual, but I hadn't felt it still, because I was so sad. So deceived by my self that my lamentations were not for me, but for her! I was partly lying to my self. There was no sound, wasn't there? The only sound was the one of my cries. As I was lost in this sound, I felt something was not normal, not as it should be. And that's when I noticed, understood, and looked at the portrait.

There was no sound! God… there was no poem! Was the man on the painting ill, or was he sympathetic to me, and didn't want me to feel even worse? When I looked in front of me, I couldn't believe it. That was true, though. But… it was impossible! Simply impossible! First of all, the man was smiling. A true, sincere smile; one I wouldn't have thought him capable of. But, the most important thing, the door was opened! I blinked a hundred times so that I was sure, because I didn't want to believe again and be deceived, no. The door looked opened, still, but I didn't move. It's the talk of the portrait that decided me: _'You did it, at last!'_ I stared at him lost, and suddenly rushed to stand up. I touched the opened door, and pushed it completely opened: there were her apartments, as if she had left them yesterday. It was so unreal; but it was true. I breathed slowly, brushed the tears from my tears in an uneasy gesture, and as I tried without succeeding to order my thoughts, I stepped into the room. So that was it, I was right, wasn't I… Or? No! No…

_So what do you think? Draco Malfoy hey? Tell me anything, the green button is here for such a purpose!_


	13. The place of the strange truth

_Hi to you! _

_Just a thanks: you can thank **Dream's girl** because, without her, I bet the story might have stopped now! And by the way, Alena, thanks a lot for the review! I hope you will like this! _

_Hum... Apart from that, I think I can only wish you a good read!_

_Bergère._

**The place of the strange truth**_  
_

I was totally nervous as I had done a couple steps into the rooms, and my nervousness didn't leave me a bit, because I began wondering about something. I wanted to erase the idea, but it didn't want to leave me! It was more and more significant, and I couldn't help analysing it and coming to the conclusion that it was possible. It was so strange though, that I didn't want to believe it: it couldn't possibly be _me_! Could it? I kept telling my self it couldn't, partly because I unconsciously wished it was me and didn't want to be deceived, and partly because it truly looked impossible. As I kept on walking, I tried to avoid thinking in how much it matched.

Yes… Truth was that it matched much more with me, than with Draco Malfoy. I hated to recognize so (and liked it all the same), but, truly, everything seemed to be all right with all the information I had if it were me! Every little bit of sentences, every looks, the letters… everything matched. Well, everything but having me look for my own self!

Enlarge my vision: yes, it was all right. I had to be open-minded enough to think in me! - The bottom of my heart, looking at my mind, they had all said…: yes, that seemed all right too. If it were me, I of course had to look into my own self to find answers. – Somewhat, the fact she had chosen me did go with it: I had to find it was me. The written-speech on capacities had much more sense in that case, too. – Also, the suspicious looks of both Ron and Harry could have been meaning that (just as Flitwick's and Neville's): they didn't want to tell what they thought, because if it weren't I'd be disappointed. Yes, it looks like if they thought it was me… Could I possibly be the only one not to think in my own self?

I remember shaking my head violently to erase these unwanted reflexions. True or not, these researches had plunged me in the depths of my memories, and even if it was a sad and painful thing, I was glad I had had the occasion to remember so much of her. And then, I observed what was all around me. I had never entered that place… maybe at once, but I couldn't make out when it was. Quite a long time ago actually! Untouched… yes, it was untouched. No doubt it was. But there was no dust, everything was in perfect order, in that maniac way she had to order everything, (even her office, I had seen).

I examined the place quite fast, actually, because the letter on the table before me then absorbed me, and I completely concentrated on it. Some green ink had been used to write on the letter, with her thin regular writing, my name. _'Hermione Granger-Weasley.'_ If course, I couldn't help thinking it was confirming my intuition, but I decided to think that it would of course be for me as I was supposedly the first one in the rooms. Of course it didn't change my ideas a bit, but I tried hard toforgetabout it.

I was dumbfounded, but there was also this nervousness about me, this excited way. I took the letter and turned it once or twice in my hands, trying to calm down. But, really, I couldn't help but half-anticipate it. And what I anticipated was what I wanted to forget about, because it could not, or more truly _would not _be me! I finally opened it, very hesitating in my movements, and prepared myself to read the letter. It was made of a couple of pieces of paper, only of her own writing. Before beginning the reading, I breathed deeply, even heavily: after all, maybe that would change my life. Who knew?

_Dear Hermione (we agreed on the Hermione-calling part in my previous letter, I still do hope you don't mind),_

I remember a good deal of smiling after reading that. It was… humour that she wouldn't have dared using in real life, I was sure. But… it was so naturally added, so nice.

_First of all, and even though I have plenty of explanations and precisions to do, I have one important thing to say: Congratulations. Because, if you're here; and even more precisely if you're reading that piece of parchment, you've entered the place, and so you do know the truth. And, it's my duty to congratulate you… But you have to know I'm really glad for you, and glad it's you!_

I believe it's no use to describe how dumbfounded I was, how much I couldn't believe it. It was… no… It just couldn't be. It couldn't be, but this seemed to be an irrefutable proof. I gave my cheeks a pinch, to check I wasn't sleeping. Of course I knew I wasn't dreaming… but I had to check; because it appeared so impossible. It was, to say truth, so much of a dream. It was much more than my wildest dreams. Could such a thing become true? I doubted such luckiness.

_I assume you're quite astonished. That is normal. Everyone would have been! You have to know that I did know. Not that I chose myself: that's not something I really can do. Of course, as Headmistress, I have to choose my heir (heiress, in that case)… But, truth is that the castle itself chooses who's able to rule it. It has this kind of individual life… and if I knew, it was a feeling, a kind of intuition. I didn't know Neville nor than Filius were up for the job. They weren't really… I don't know. It may seem odd, but I felt it wasn't them. A feeling was making me think in you. And I knew it was you. It had to be you._

_Actually, I think we can say that you're choice is the castle and mine all the same. That means I wasn't capable to choose totally on my own. It could have been a Slytherin, it could even have been an enemy of mine that I would have 'felt' it, and I wouldn't have tried to change things. Happily enough, it is you. And I'm glad. I know I said it already… but that is true. You do deserve the job. _

At that very moment, I was helplessly lost. I wanted it to be true. I wouldn't have stood it if, just now, I had woken up and had been struck by the sad truth that it was a dream. It would have been unbearable. And I was glad to see that I didn't awoke, that everything seemed perfectly real, and that the letter had this very smell the parchment has, and the ink wasn't a dream, its colour was real. I felt grateful, I felt in a state superior to happiness, a bit near mystic perhaps. I don't really know. But I know that I was… just unable to sort things out clearly, and that all my life depended on that letter. It was all my life, for the moment. The only thing that linked me to present, to reality! It was paradoxical that this _so unreal_ thing was obliging me to stay in contact with reality.

I remember a bit of immobility all around before I began reading what came next. I was… I think I had the feeling that everything around was awesome. I was in awesomeness.

_I can easily imagine that you're wondering why all this fussing around when it's you, and when the answer is going to be given soon. By the way, I will explain more precisely when and how you're going to have the official sorting. But, I prefer to tell you this at first. I do sincerely hope you don't mind too much._

_Truth is that your case is a rare and special one. As you know, the Headmaster is more than often the former deputy headmaster. This time that's not the case, and that's why there was this kind of initiation. It's something that happened sometimes a few centuries ago, but it hasn't occurred since 1793. That is to say. You had to find out, to go into the depths of your soul. Often, and maybe that's your case, it's something you understand thanks to circumstances. Don't think it means you failed. No, not a bit: that'd mean that you've got humility. And that's a good point._

_Anyway, that's why you had to do that research; because you're not deputy headmistress. As I had said in my first letter, you couldn't possibly fail. And you didn't, I know it. You're here._

At that moment, I paused. It was so completely overwhelming! I was… just… dumbfounded once again. These were greetings like I'd never even thought I'd have from her. This confidence and this simple way to write to me… I nearly cried at that moment. My eyes were wet, and I brushed the tears to-be before going on.

_For the 'official' sorting, I bet I had better explain you. Of course they'll send some official men who will check, and who (supposedly) knows what to do. But truth is I don't have _absolute_ confidence in them. There's a big vase, next to the Sorting Hat, in my office. I bet you remember the Triwizarding Tournament. That's the same way as the Goblet worked, but there's no paper to be put in it. It will sort out a name. And this time, it will sort out yours. You have to know that this vase is being used even when it's the Deputy Headmaster who's taking the role. The sorting is done exactly one month after the death or the resigning of the former headmaster. I hope I was clear in my explanations._

At that moment, I nodded to myself, as if in response. I had understood thing quite well. I made a mental calculation: we were on the 1st of July, and I had the official answer on the 10th… I'd remember that. I'd tell people. But… these dates made me think again in the fact she was dead. Merlin, she was bloody truly dead. And if that was true I was… supposed to take her seat, her job and her place…? That seemed unbearable. I stopped my reading for a moment, and I did cry. I cried hard. Because she was dead, because it struck me that, as it was me (I had accepted it, at last), I didn't even know if I'd support such a thing. I, my poor little and simple person, ruling Hogwarts! No… That wasn't possible. As I had said all along my researches, it needed someone really great, really… I couldn't be that one, could I?

After some time of sobbing, and then a good deal of wonderings, I decided the letter would answer. Actually, I knew very well that it wouldn't change anything to my feeling of distress… But by now I just had that letter. And I had to deal only with it as a basis.

_I wanted to tell you, also, that you don't have to do both teaching and ruling, as I did. I'll tell you truth here, you deserve it: I did this, at first, because I couldn't make up my mind that I was ruling, that I was so 'important'. There had been the war, of course, and now that it had ended up, we had to reconstruct. We had to reconstruct ourselves too. I had lost two of my dearest friends in two years. Albus Dumbledore had been the mentor of my youth and his friendship was a gem to me. He had died, and Severus, the one that should have remained as a help, was his assassinator. I hated him with all the intensity of the feelings of treason and despair I felt. And he died too, but I haven't had the satisfaction to be glad Albus had had his revenge, because I learnt he was on our side. Truth is that only Filius remained, and when you'll see him, tell him I thank him a lot. I never really said it._

At that moment, I paused again. Such confession, such confidence! She was telling me the very bottom of her heart. I was… deeply moved. So deeply moved: I myself felt this emptiness and this unfairly life. I had been standing up all the time until then, but I sat. Without even thinking of it, I found myself seated in a chintz armchair. I was febrile and my heart beat hard against my chest. I was… I don't know. So many years after, I still can't find the proper word to describe that feeling. It was a mixing up of gratefulness, of sadness, of fear and of a sense of unreality. I remember the smooth feeling of my hand pressed against the material of the armchair, and how comfortable it was to sit here; that's all.

_Anyway, these are just babbling around. It's just to say that after that, I had to keep something habitual. Teaching was as I had been doing it for a bit more then 40 years. It was a second nature for me. But, as I was sorted out by the vase (Severus' presence as Headmaster had been quite escaping the law), I couldn't refuse. I'd not lie, even though I'm not of the most ambitioned kind, it is hard to be totally ambitionless when you're face to face with such an honour. Taking Albus' place seemed difficult, too. And that's also why I went on teaching. At first, I wanted to do it for a couple of years, and then quit. I didn't have the strength to do so. That was lots of work, yes, it's true. But I believe I couldn't have survived with my mind unoccupied. Life is long, you know, and three wars affect a man. I think that, if I had been unoccupied, I would have been in what muggles name depression, and that us wizards don't really recognize…_

Here, I made a stop. Her having depression? No, no! That could not be! That could not have been! That just seemed impossible. Even more impossible than the idea of me as ruler of Hogwarts, that is to say! She just… A part of me knew it was very possible, but I couldn't believe it. Not her, the idol of my youth as well as the icon of my later years and the mentor of my behaviours! I couldn't accept that. At first, I preferred to erase the idea. Now, of course, I do have consciousness of the fact that it was possible, maybe even probable, knowing all she'd been trough. But I didn't want to think of it.

_…These aren't very nice ideas anyway. Let's just forget about it. What I meant is that you don't have to. First of all, you aren't obliged to accept ruling Hogwarts, even though I think it would be foolish of you (as you are able to do so), to refuse such a thing. But, as headmistress, you really don't have to teach. Truth is that you're not supposed to: what I did wasn't really _normal_. It's up to you. If I were you, I'd maybe try out for a few years, as you've never taught and it's difficult to rule a school without knowing what teaching is like. But of course, it's just an idea and it's up to you. Maybe that's 'dangerous', because you could get accustomed to appreciate it! I don't know._

_One last thing: there is a kind of… maybe it can be named a 'heritage'. It's not the very same, but it's the same kind of object that a headmaster gives to the one coming after him or her. And, as you're a woman that was easier I may say. If you haven't moved from where the letter was, there's a large cupboard on you left side. Just open it, it's inside…_

After these words, there was an unnatural blank in the letter. I stared at the little place empty from any writings, and decided I lost nothing in going to the cupboard. I look all around me, and found a big piece of furniture very likely to be what she talked about. I got up on my feet, walked to it, and opened it carefully. The letter was still in my hand. It seemed to be full of clothes of hers, but there was, just in front of me, some black piece of material that wasn't with the rest. I hesitated, and touched it. It was delicate, like velvet. But, at that very moment, I felt some heat in my other hand. I took a look at the letter: where there wasn't anything before, there now was some words again! I put my hand back and read.

_Just open, it's inside it. I'm sorry, it may have been a little childish, but I wanted to make sure you had seen it before telling it: you've touched the dress, I assume. As you may have guessed, that's what's given from a headmaster to the following one. I never ever wore the one Albus had given me: it was too colourful, if you see what I mean. Plus, it appeared a year after his death because of all You-Know-Whose acts, and I didn't really feel like wearing a turquoise-green-yellow dress with laces and all sorts of strange decorations in a mourning period. Very much like him, true. Anyway, it may still be in the cupboard. _

_(By the way, all that's still in this room is Hogwarts'; which means that you can do whatever you want with it. I doubt the clothes would suit you, but who knows? Most of my books are in Hogwarts' library: the few remaining ones are in my office and, as you may have understood, they are for my successor. Maybe that'll be you. All pieces of furniture and so on could stay here, I think). _

_Okay, that being said I come back to the subject of _your_ dress. It's only yours. I do sincerely hope it'll suit you. I did that as I could and I wasn't exactly aware of your size, but I think it'll be alright. I think you'll be able to wear it. Don't feel obliged, though, if you dislike it. _

I stopped my reading and looked at the dress again. I couldn't really sort out what it looked like. It was black and had a nice texture. It was long, and I was absolutely sure it was really good, really pretty. I couldn't doubt her taste. I remember noticing, behind the dress, between other clothes, an aggressively blue-coloured material, and guessing what it was. I didn't dare to take the dress, and just stared at it for a moment before ending up my reading.

_I've come to the end. I wish you good luck and lots of happiness in ruling here. Hogwarts is a great and beautiful place. I'm sure you have consciousness of that. But, I've learnt so much about it as a teacher, and even more as a headmistress…! I can swear you'll find it even more great and splendid if you accept the job. _

_Yours, sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall._

Just as I ended it up, I stayed for a few minutes in a state of… I don't know. It was like if I was living in a different world! I was floating in the realms of blissfulness. But then, of course, I was back in reality. I was to be headmistress! That was unreal. Did I want to do it? Sure, part of me did… but… I didn't feel capable of affording such a thing. And, there was this question about what I should do: teaching or not teaching, that is the question?

I remember stopping suddenly my practical thoughts. I knew it, of course, but the idea struck me and for an instant, I remained breathless and then just, with an altered voice: _'Headmistress of Hogwarts…'_

_So, what do you think of it, hey? I'm waiting for your thoughts!_


	14. Talks and Poirot style

_I hope you'll enjoy that chapter, which isn't full of action a bit, but which is... Hercule Poirot inspired! I fancy it's cute! Have a good read and tell me what you think! _

_Bergère._

**Talks and Poirot style**

I needed to talk. I wanted some help. I needed… I remember an awful confusion in my thoughts, and walking like a robot to reach a fireplace and leave for home. I wasn't expected, but to tell truth I didn't care at all. I think it was about 5 p.m. when I arrived at home and found an empty dinning-room. I reached a couch I don't know how, and in the state which was mine, I'm wondering what superior power was given to me so that I could afford the few steps that led me through the path to the said sofa. Logic would have made me fall on the floor at least twice in the 3 meters distance with the nearest place to seat.

Once there, I became aware of the fact that I was holding tight the letter in my hand: it had lost its shape and wasn't far from being torn. I released it, and for about a minute I merely concentrated on the occupation of giving it a straight appearance. Soon though, I was overwhelmed once more and, letting it go, I decided there was no way I could do on my own just now. I remember having a hard time to get a half-normal voice before plaintively calling for Ron. From the kitchen (not so astonishing), I heard his voice saying, quite worried: _'Hermione?'_ and, oddly, I found the strength to mock him. _'Who do you want to be on your sofa by now?'_ He appeared in the room, holding a full glass of Butter-beer and with a chuckled said: _'Harry? or maybe my secret lover!'_ However when he saw I did not laugh nor than react at his overall bad joke, he looked concerned: _'You all right?' _

I couldn't find the will to lie, and I wasn't here to do so. _'I don't have a clue.'_ His eyes widened, and as he sat next to me, he gave me his glass which I unconsciously grabbed and raised to my lips. He looked at me for a moment and I think he finally talked once he'd seen the letter which was on my lap._ 'There's something new in our researches?' 'I'm afraid yes,'_ I said, _'and I'm afraid that's astonishing.'_ When I now think of it, I see that I was dreadfully unclear in my manner to explain. But I couldn't go any farther than what he asked. I couldn't possibly make such an effort on my mind. So he smiled with a sympathetic expression, taking my free hand, and waiting for a minute or two.

However, I did not utter a word, because my mind was too occupied in inefficiently trying to sort out what had happened, was happening and what would eventually happen… and it was a hard job as I couldn't even replay the scene in my head. So, he took the initiative and, touching the letter still on my lap, asked: _'What's that?'_ for, of course, he felt the centre of the problem was over there. I nodded, as if that was an answer; but then, after a hard and deep sigh and breath, I brushed the inexistent wetness on my forehead and answered. _'It's McGonagall's letter.'_ Ron stopped dead, and I could see the whole path of his reflexion until he said, with an altered voice: _'You found!'_ And I nodded.

It took me about a minute to force myself into telling him that it supposedly was me; but he didn't seem that astonished, and I asked in a murmur: _'Was that yours and Harry' theory?'_ He nodded and with a smile: _'Mostly Harry… But, then… that's you.'_ I shook my head in a half desperate way and just said: _'I don't know. I can't decide…'_

Ron is the only person who has read that letter. I did not even show it to Harry: it was something I could only share with my husband, the other half of my heart.

As he was reading it, both of us remained silent, and I was astonished to find him really overwhelmed at the end of it: no doubt he had really changed since the time I said he had the Emotional capacity of a tea spoon. He seemed deeply touched by the content of the letter, and as he put it back on my lap, he just said in a smothered tone: _'Wow…'_ I nodded and he said. _'What are you planning to do?' 'I don't have a clue… I need help.'_ Of course he was agreeing with me; but then he remained silent for a while. After a minute of silence, I remember some anxiety and wondering: what were his thoughts up to? I couldn't help feeling unsecure and was relieved when he finally said: _'You have to know that whatever what your choice is, and I don't want to interfere, I'll be all ok.'_ How great! But well, I was so unsure. _'Thanks Ron, thanks so very much, but…'_ He kissed me very gently, just a brush of his lips on mine, _'What?' 'Well,' _I said,_ 'it's just that I don't know. I… If it's true, of course I'll say yes, I think. But I can't convince myself… and…'_

I added nothing, and the two of us remained in complete silence for I don't know how long, but quite a lot… I was thinking the same things all over again: me? Could it be? And that confidence of hers, that lack of self-confidence, and that fact I was afraid of everything. I was afraid of making a mistake, afraid of having understood wrongly and making a fool of myself while announcing I was to be headmistress, and not being in the end. I felt I needed support, but I couldn't sort out what support, and how I could find an efficient one. True: who could help me in such a delicate and personal thing, as Ron refused (and I could see his points very well) to take part in my choice?

I think he spent all that silent time thinking in a solution: my begging for help had been quite important for him. Finally, he interrupted my un-useful thoughts: _'Darling?'_ I turned to face him and said (with a voice broken by the intensity of my thoughts), _'What?' 'I have an idea…'_ It was hopeless, and I stared at him in surprise, but very glad. He smiled in return and, nodding, said: _'Get a few people to a meeting, and ask them… I mean… You need people to tell you what they think, and to listen, don't you?'_ I nodded, because he was obviously right. _'So, let's go the Hogwarts, ask for Harry, Neville and Flitwick (and someone else if you think), and have a little council… What do you think?'_ I sighed and couldn't help a little smile: that was exactly what I wanted to do, even though I couldn't find a way to think in it clearly. I planted a kiss on his cheek, and said: _'I think you are a genius!'_ And, after that, I took hold of his hand and, entering the fire place, pronounced the name of Harry's home. I was astonished once arrived in their dinning-room to be alone, but he arrived a second after, saying he was writing a note for Hugo and Rose. At that moment, I remember thinking I had a wonderful husband.

We said we needed Harry, and Ginny if she wanted… but she declined, and I felt quite grateful to her about that, because I don't think that she'd have helped, on such a thing! And I think now, retrospectively analyzing it, that she felt she wasn't really asked nor than needed… and didn't feel offended. So, the three of us left and we flued to Hogwarts, in my rooms. Harry, at that time, wasn't aware of the thing, but I'm convinced that he had more and less guessed. Plus, it was obvious I was overexcited.

We headed to the Teacher's Lounge, where I happily found both Neville and Flitwick. Of course, half of the staff was here, and our entrance was quite indiscreet: I would have preferred no one to see us, because I didn't feel like playing the role of the unawareness and the easiness. It was too late: as soon as they saw Harry, I knew we'd have to spend at least 10 minutes here, in babbling around. But Neville saved us. As soon as we entered, I saw a little light in his eyes, and I understood that he felt we weren't here just to chat (well, Ron and Harry, for personally, my presence was quite natural). So, he stood up immediately and shaking Ron's hand with a serious way, said: _'Thanks a lot for coming so soon. Harry, thank you very much too.'_ He then shook his other former schoolmate's hand, and began to walk to the door, ready to leave the room. At that moment Ron, as if he just understood Neville's idea, looked at me, at the door and at professor Flitwick, and turning to the latter he said, in a casual tone: _'Professor Flitwick, I thought you were needed too.'_

Even though I was quite unclear, and my mind was in a mess, I remember the old man's way to look dumbfounded. Of course, he was unaware of the whole unprepared scheme, and hadn't guessed anything for the moment. However, he nodded and said: _'Yes of course.'_ We left, and the teachers remaining in the room began chatting in a way that reminded very much, I remember, of teenagers. Only Ron and I knew what the entire thing was about, truly; but we were following Neville without even wondering where he was leading us. So, I remember having felt astonished once arrived in the headmaster's office, without having noticed we'd made the whole way up to there.

When we entered the place, I immediately noticed that Dumbledore's portrait was asleep… how bad! I'd have loved to have an advice of his; I needed it, even. But I knew it was no way trying to wake him up. But, as I glanced all around me, I didn't notice that the four men were now seated, looking at me. I was obliged to leave my reverie by Neville's voice, who said: '_Hermione, we're listening to you.' _

That was a huge shock: I had nearly forgotten about all this stuff that made me feel so uneasy and unsure, about that impossible happiness; about everything. So, as he was asking me to explain myself and the reasons for my sudden coming at Hogwarts with two unexpected guests, with an air that, I assume, was lost and foolish, I felt lost. But, Merlin, how to announce this: I did not know myself how to deal with this, and I had to say it to a group of people whom I knew, yes, but… still. Ron smiled to me encouragingly and I decided it was time to speak; to try out.

Even with such a resolution, my voice was unsure and I felt terribly shy while beginning: _'Okay… you're all here because… Because I have something to say I assume… to ask for help.'_ I stopped, unable to go on, as the whole of them nodded in a very serious way. Was I really sure of what I did? Did I felt ready to speak of this? My eyes eager for reassurance went from one to another. I remember professor Flitwick's concentrated expression, and his way to twist his fingers in nervousness; Ron who tenderly smiled to me, Neville who waited patiently for me to speak. When Harry came to my sight, I still felt that little thing in my throat, forbidding me to speak; and my best friend, with a sudden inspiration, smiled wonderfully and said: _'Hercule Poirot, dear, we are waiting for your wonderful conclusions!'_ The other three looked questioningly at him while I chuckled, unable to suppress a laugh: he had been able to transform the whole thing in a murder mystery novel. I answered, _'Poor Hastings, you can't even imagine how surprising my conclusions are…'_ and then prepared myself to go on.

_'So… I feel awfully ridiculous and… I'm here because I need some help and some advices. I appear to have found the name of the heir of Minerva McGonagall and…it looks so strange that I can't believe it myself.'_ I felt tension and waiting in their eyes, but uttering my own name seemed a titanic thing to do. _'The portrait, which was supposed to… be a test… Well, that portrait and a letter of hers say that…'_ my voice slowed down, and I breathed heavily before saying, _'it's me.'_ I wasn't that astonished, oddly, to see that surprise was the very feeling readable in none of their faces. Ron seemed to be relieved that I had had the strength to say it that easily (because, after all, it hadn't taken me such a long time!). Harry looked very happy, just as if he had just received a Christmas present; and I remember wondering why he felt so ecstatic about that. Professor Flitwick exchanged a knowing look with Neville who was simply smiling. It nearly seemed too easy.

After that, I sat down, as if harassed by the burden of what I had just said, and my former Charm teacher was the first to speak. He smiled and said that: _'Well… there's not much more to say than Congratulations. And, for what you asked… it indeed is you: Neville and I had heard it at once, when it had slipped from her.'_ I nodded. Neville repeated _'Congratulations'_, soon followed by Ron and Harry, in a single voice. Harry stood up and, walking to me, put a hand on my shoulder and said: _'Indeed, Poirot, you've got intuition.'_ I smiled and replied: _'This is not intuition, it's my little grey cells,'_ and then I sighed and added, _'but I'm afraid that this time, it's intuition indeed.'_ He smiled, and softly brushed my hair in disorder. _'Harry, stop it!'_ I cried, and at that he just took a ridiculously natural expression. _'It had been so long since the last time I did that.'_

This was childish game, really, but at least I felt a bit better; and at that moment Dumbledore's portrait, awaken since I didn't know when, decided it was right to talk. _'Mrs Weasley?'_ I violently turned to face him. _'Ah… yes?'_ He smiled indulgently at my surprise and my vivacity._ 'Can I give you an advice?'_ Harry, next to me, began laughing so very much that I thought he never would stop; but after a few seconds of incredulous staring at him, I turned to face the portrait._ 'Well, yes of course!' 'Spend the next 9 days forcing yourself to accept it's you, indeed.'_ I glanced at him like if he was crazy, but he had already disappeared. After that, I turned to Harry who, being helped by professor Flitwick was back to his normal self. _'What the hell happened to you?'_ He had a last chuckle and finally answered. _'It was just professor Dumbledore wanting to give an advice without unclear sentences, and giving you the choice! That's so unusual!'_ At this, no one really reacted except the little teacher who laughed a good deal in a high-pitched way before addressing to Harry. _'You understood Albus very well, my boy!'_

After that, I don't remember much except that Ron slept with me at Hogwarts. And that I made them all swear no to talk about it to anyone.

It's after that that I understood professor Dumbledore's advice. Even after so many explanations, clues and proofs, I couldn't really feel it was true. For me, everything remained unclear, and I was totally lost because, in my mind, it just was impossible. I couldn't be. Such a fact would have obeyed to none of the precepts I knew. It's wasn't logical, practical normal… It was just abnormal. Awfully abnormal and unclear: that's what it was!

The rest of my time was, then, occupied in fulfilling what Dumbledore had asked me and advised me to do.

_So, what's your opinion?_


	15. Feelings and Tributes

_Hi everybody! Here we go with the 15th chapter: only 2, and then you're done with the story :)  
_

_Have a nice read, and tell me what you think! Bergère._

**Feelings and Tributes**_  
_

To say that I didn't really feel conscious of what happened around me, for about a week, is to tell truth. I felt… horribly dazzled. My amazement was nearly insane. I was thinking things all over again. Everyone who was looking at me gave me the feeling that they were aware. Or, if not, that they were at least judging me… I was paranoiac, maybe, and even quite a lot because I was sure none of the persons I had acknowledged would betray my confidence. They were trustworthy: this, I was sure. However, it didn't prevent me from feeling this insane insecurity all around.

I was so unsure of myself that I became unsure of everything, everyone.

I'm glad Ron was back at home, for the remaining days I spent in Hogwarts, because I'm nearly sure I'd have even spoiled him. _It's me, it's me…_ It was the internal song I said to myself, all day long. _It's me, it's me…_ These words were on my mind, all over again. _Headmistress, headmistress… _It seemed so impossible, so crazy. _Headmistress…_ I had no idea, at that moment, of what was my previous job. I remember some sudden seconds of consciousness when I felt aware that I was a Ministry employee, that I wasn't a teacher. This, I had nearly forgotten. If I couldn't accept I was to be headmistress, it seemed obvious to me that I was a teacher. Like if I had been all my life long.

During the first two days, too, I cried a lot. I could not stop. It seemed that the marble stone of her grave was always before my eyes. It seemed I was reminded of her death all the time. I even felt guilty, nearly as though she'd died because of me. Nearly as if I was taking her place with pleasure.

But was I? Would I take her role? Would I be able to do so? Really and truly without failing in the fulfilling of my duties! I had said so very much about being worthy of it, as I was looking of an answer. And, honestly, I didn't feel worthy of it at all. And I cried again on my inability to do things. I read her letter a hundred times at least, learning every bit of it by heart, trying to make me feel better. But I just cried more. I imagined her, in her black robes, looking at me or at nothingness, so intensely. And I could see tears on her cheeks. Forbidden tears, born from her depressive state. And no one cared, and I couldn't care. Because, it was just a dream; a day dream that drove me mad.

I had no more classes to teach, and I was wondering about the corridors, shivering in all winds, true or symbolic. I was becoming a master in soliloquies; sharing the feeling I was a new Hamlet… Of course, all this was so much and so exaggerated: I wasn't Hamlet, and my despair was the one of hesitation. It was a despair of unexpected and oddly somewhat unwanted happiness. I couldn't imagine I was so happy: it was beside my capacities. Now, I think it was a bit ridiculous, maybe. But I felt it, so strong, in my heart.

I had that indestructible and indefinable feeling that she was around me. Encouraging me in such a way that I felt even worse, she was in my mind: it was strange beyond expectations.

But, of course, things couldn't remain that way. I couldn't be always alone. Not all the time, in such a castle where a multitude of students lived: in there, I had to see people. Neville and professor Flitwick, with much wisdom, did nothing more than smiling at me in an indulgent and encouraging way. The other teachers, to tell truth, seldom saw me. As for students, I couldn't avoid seeing a couple of them during the few days during which they remained. They left in the late morning of the 3rd, and during the time in between my discovery and the moment they all entered the train, two things happened. The first was really strange; and the second was really unexpected, but I was… charmed by it, somewhat.

The day after the meeting and the discovery I had made, I was wondering alone about the castle, lost in my reflexions, as I usually did since the previous day. And I met someone to whom I hadn't had time to think again: young Julia. She was heading to her dormitory, I think, and was holding a large book in her hands. I remember smiling a little: she was just leaving the Library.

However, I wasn't prepared to meet with her, and when she came to me and simply said _'Hello,'_ I suddenly felt terribly strange. I stared at her for what I felt like hours. I had this feeling, this sensation… what could she think of me now? I paused in my thoughts: but she didn't know. It was a deep secret… She couldn't know, could she? The genuine look in her eyes comforted me a bit, but I couldn't help some dazzling impression. I didn't know how to behave: everything seemed unnatural. With a voice that I thought quite rough but low all the same, I answered: _'Hello.'_ And of course, it was obvious I looked strange because she raised her elbows and, hesitating, asked me: _'You are alright?' 'Yes,'_ I lied. Because, really, I don't think I could say I was alright. I wasn't.

We were like that, standing in the middle of the corridor. I believe nothing else needed to be said, but we remained that way: she was looking at me, expectedly, and I was glancing at her every two seconds, in wondering. My mind was clearly divided in two parts: one could have been named reason, and the other passion. The passionate and sensitive part of me was feeling a deep will to tell her about my future attribution… I saw her candid look and her sympathetic expression. I remembered her feelings and these strange conversations we had shared, in her office and in front of her grave. I felt that she deserved to know… But it was a confused impression. I couldn't sort out feelings: they were in a mess in my mind. The reasonable part, of course, was against it: why would I take her in my confidence when I was already so stressed out about anyone knowing about this? It was secret I couldn't accept myself, and I wanted to tell it to someone else while it was unnecessary! How silly!

I don't know for how long, but I remained in silence for a good deal of time, my eyes going from her to nowhere… but truth is that I was properly looking at nothing. I couldn't register her expression, nor than anything. I was trying to figure out what I would do, and… I was poor at doing so. When she interrupted me again, I looked at her with an astonished look, as if talking to me was something properly exceptional. _'You're sure you're alright…' _she asked._ 'I'm…'_ I began. But I stopped.

What was _I_? And what was I going to say? I was going to tell her, I'm afraid. About to say, in a way that would certainly have looked stupid, and not a bit appropriated to the situation. So, once more, I stupidly stared at her and open my mouth about two times before saying, but with an awful tone, _'No, nothing…'_ So she nodded, not so convinced, and left. I remember seeing her turning about three or four times to me, obviously trying to understand what was wrong with me. I prefer not to imagine what I looked like…

But, anyway, I know that after she left I spent about ten minutes with my thoughts more and less on her. Poor dear, she might have been oddly surprised by my behaviour. I'd really have liked to tell her, but I couldn't. It wasn't reasonable, and I'm not sure I'd have felt better after doing so. Also, how could I tell someone else when I wasn't even totally convinced? Somewhere deep inside, I was, of course… but my reason, - damn reason! - couldn't properly sort it out. It was so strange…

Merlin… I'm beginning to say the same things all over again. I'm so bad at sticking to a subject, when it touches me deeply. I feel a need to go on with repetitive things, and the thing isn't efficient at all. Anyway… there was another thing which I wouldn't have thought of. But it was really nice, and it gave me a most sweet feeling in the heart.

It was on the morning of the 3rd of July. Students were to take the train at 11, and left Hogwarts itself at 10, as not to miss it. And, at about 9, I was sitting in the Library, looking at a book I didn't manage to read and which, I remember was 'Hogwarts, a history'. Of course, it was the only book in which I could possibly find comfort… but as I couldn't concentrate on it, it wasn't such a great help.

So, as I was there, I heard noise, and Mrs Pince telling something like: _'What are you all doing here, today? And you're chatting with that!'_ There was some smothering of the conversations, and the answer obviously came in a whisper for I couldn't catch a word of it. However, because I wasn't concentrating on the book anyway, I looked around me just in time so see Mrs Pince raising her elbows and, fast glancing at me, asking them in a tone I didn't know her: _'Really?' 'Yes,'_ said someone. That's just at that moment that I became aware of the huge number of students in the place. It wasn't really… natural. I mean… most of the students hate the Library, just because it's named a Library. And, even when they are not hateful about it, they never enter it on the first day of holidays! That was really unusual. I thought it was a group of friend… but it was really huge, and the presence of all four Houses, from what I could see, made me doubt. What were these teenagers up to?

Just when I was about to get on my feet, Mrs Pince gave an unexpected tender and nearly melancholic smile and nodded._ 'Go, but don't be too long on here.' 'Yes ma'am'_ said them all. And after that, a 7th year Gryffindor first, they approached me. My eyes narrowed when I understood they were here to talk to me. What was that about? And they seemed hesitating… I didn't move. Why would I have? I didn't have a clue why they were all here, but it had noticeably to do with me. Soon, they were in a group more or less surrounding the table where I sat (except none of them was behind me), and they clearly felt uneasy. They hesitated… and I must admit I'm afraid I didn't help: I was staring at them, not uttering a word, not encouraging them to speak… Finally, that boy (who seemed to be leading them), a nice fellow who seemed to be working hard, decided it was more than time to talk.

_'Mrs?'_ he asked. _'Yes?'_ I said, not bothering to ask for more. I was sure he'd go on… and also… I don't know! I just couldn't ask anything just now. _'We… Professor Longbottom said we'd have better ask you so…' 'Ask me?' _I paused, and looked at him, and then at them all, with widened eyes… _'Ask what?'_ I nearly perceived a sigh of relief: they might have begun wondering why I wasn't trying to know the reason why they were here. The boy –or young man- took a deep breathe, as if looking for braveness, and finally began his explanation. _'Well… a… large amount of us wanted to… I don't know, like… doing a tribute to professor McGonagall and… we went to professor Longbottom and Flitwick and… we collected money, and… professor Longbottom said he'd go with two of us to Hogsmead to buy flowers and… And he said that he was not the one to…put the flowers on the grave and said that…' _He paused there, and finally ended it speaking very fast, not breathing during his sentence._ '…That if we wanted someone else to do it, not one of us, we should ask you.' _

I look at them in complete astonishment. What did they, in the name of Merlin's beard, mean? They wanted me to… suddenly, the shock of understanding made my eyes widen even more. I couldn't repress my question, which wasn't really questioning. _'You want me to put flowers on professor McGonagall's grave?'_ They nodded, obviously glad I didn't seem to be totally opposed to it. Then, I heard an aluminium-like noise, or maybe it was plastic, I couldn't define it, as a little Slytherin girl (The fact she was a Slytherin was so touching that I blinked, furiously fighting not to cry) appeared in front of me. The 2nd year was holding tight with much precaution a bunch which looked bigger than her. I stared, impressed.

It was absolutely beautiful… This kind of thing cost a lot, I knew. Not that I was specialised in bouquets… but everyone knows flowers are more than expensive. It was sober though beautifully mixing up flowers and colours. A huge and pretty white chrysanthemum was in the middle, surrounded by a couple of black tulips. Then, white roses, and flowers I didn't know surrounded it. The only colour other than white and black came from a few blue and little flowers, really cute, and of the green leaves. Also, there was something like an emerald (but that couldn't be) next to the central flower. Of course it was very precise, nearly artful… but it looked natural. I saw that bunch but once, but I printed its picture on my mind.

I just said something like _'Wow,'_ in a whisper, and looked at them all and stated: _'It cost a fortune, no?' 'Well… we were a lot to participate to it, you know.'_ I nodded… _'So… is it now?'_ I asked._ 'I assume yes,'_ answered some Ravenclaw girl next to me. Slowly, I stood up, and I left the Library. At that moment, I was struck by they fact that they were really a lot… maybe a hundred. And as I walked to the Great Door and the outside, I saw more of them joining, asking what was going on, and following. I'm pretty sure now that half of the school at least was there. When I reached the gardens, I stopped, nearly overwhelmed by feelings. I bit my lip… I didn't want to cry just now, with everyone all around. But I was touched by their idea of a mark of respect towards her… and this will to have me putting it on the grave (it was Neville's, of course, but still…), and at least not a student, gave me the feeling that it was sanctified. It was such an honour.

I wouldn't move, so someone went to me and gave me the bunch: this drove me back to reality. I hardly shook my head, took hold of the flowers, and began walking to reach the lake and the graves. I had that strange feeling that I'd never reach it. It was so bizarre… Finally, when I came in front of it, I found myself staring at the marble and unable to do anything. What was I supposed to do? Suddenly, I was unsure, nearly bad. After a moment hesitation, I turned behind: _'Do you want me to say something or…' 'Hum…'_ came as an answer. _'I don't know. It's… if you want.'_ I turned to face again the tomb and murmured, to myself: _'I'm afraid no word is good on such an occasion…'_

Finally, after some other staring, I cleared my throat, feeling uneasy, but paradoxically relieved, and talked to the nothingness before me. _'Not much can be said… and… I think that this tribute from students is the… best that can be done, and the clearest thing that could be. So… here it is.'_ Behind me, I heard some very low and discreet whispers of students who hadn't heard and asked others to repeat, while I was putting the large bunch on the grave and then stepping in-behind. There was a silence, and finally a few voices together said _'Thanks, professor.' 'Oh, you're welcome,'_ I answered. But I wasn't really conscious of everything around. They began leaving, one by one, or by little groups.

Then, I turned to face the castle and saw two silhouettes, clearly smiling nicely, near the door: Neville and professor Flitwick. It was because of them, or maybe thanks to them, that I had had this honour. Fast, I walked to reach them. _'That was your idea?' 'Yes, indeed,'_ said professor Flitwick. _'Not totally'_ said Neville. I raised my elbows, he smiled, and said: _'I'll explain'_.

He said that a few day before, a heteroclite group of students, really large, had come to see them both, in the Teacher's Lounge, saying they'd like to buy a bunch to put on professor McGonagall's grave. The two of them had nodded, saying that was possible, and explaining that they'd take two students with them to do so. He said the kids had refused their contribution, saying they wanted to do this… well… as a personal tribute from her students. Neville told me he had laughed a little, and said he was a former student of hers too, and that half of the Wizard-Community also was. They had looked at him with wild eyes, because even though it was somewhat logical, I don't think any of them had hardly ever thought of that. Anyway, they had said it was really alright… So they had gone to buy the bunch just this morning, which was really a piece of art (on that I agreed, of course), and as I asked for how much it had cost he refused to tell me, just saying that they had collected nearly 50 Galleons. My eyes widened! My god, it was really the whole school which had bought this…

Then, he explained why it was me._ 'When we were back at Hogwarts, they seemed to hesitate, you see… like when students are not sure whether talking is a good idea or not… And when I asked, they said "Well, we… do you think you could represent us all?" I looked at them curiously. "What do you mean?" "Well… just put the bunch on the grave." Obviously they were unsure and they explained themselves. "It's just that we are so much, and we'd need someone else so that there's no jealousy question and all… You are someone else but…" I smiled to them, and well… of course I thought of you Hermione. They remained silent, and one of them said. "We thought about Mrs Granger-Weasley too, but…" Obviously, they didn't dare to ask you because they don't know you so much. But… they also thought about you! So I told them I was sure you would accept, and I send them to you. Here is the story!'_

After that, I just nodded, and left them. My mind was full of thoughts of her, and I was deeply touched, overwhelmed with emotions. I reached my rooms and cried, not even knowing why because I was somewhat gladder about that than sad. Of course it meant she was dead… but this I knew. At least, for a moment, my mind was occupied by thoughts of her, and not of this headmistress stuff.


	16. When everything is supposedly said

_Hi everybody! Here's the next to last chapter!_

_Thanks to Alena for her review, as usually! _

_Hope you like it,_

_Bergère!  
_

**When everything is supposedly said**

However hardly, time went by day after day, and the 10th was inevitably and oddly close. When Officials arrived, and that we all headed in silence to the Headmaster's office, I thought I was ready to manage the idea. I had accepted it was me, in a theoretical way: now, it was time to confront myself with real world. From theory to practice: how large the difference was…

I think we were a quite funny group to look at. Two Ministry officials were standing, trying not to show there anxiety: there was an old fellow who seemed calmer and had obviously been there for professor McGonagall's 'sorting'. His colleague, a young man looking much like a nervous fellow, was looking all around him in search for a kind of comfort. Both of them were here to take notes and confirm the decision… Neville was smiling, quite casually, and I could see he was making huge efforts not to grin or to exchange knowing looks with anyone: he looked more like a teenager than a serious deputy headmaster. Professor Flitwick was harbouring a quite peaceful expression, nearly smiling. Ron didn't manage to come in, which I really disliked; and Harry was sitting in a corner, trying to be discreet because, I guess, he wasn't properly supposed to be here. And, besides, Dumbledore's portrait was here, eyes wild-open, and smiling.

For about ten minutes, we remained there in a strange state: no one was really moving, and we were exchanging looks without getting any proper answer… But that atmosphere made me feel terrible nervous: stress was filling me more and more minute after minute, and I felt I soon wouldn't be able to stand anymore of it. The large oak box, covered in gold ornaments, was driving me mad. _'What are we waiting for?'_ I heard Neville and Harry suppress a chuckle, and fought hard not to turn to them and give them a dark glance. The older man finally answered, as his younger colleague seemed startled by my question. _'You've not been informed?'_ said he, as if it were natural that I knew everything. _'Well, no. I'm not exactly a specialist of headmaster-like stuff! So?'_

The men exchanged a look, as if hesitating, and as I was about to yell at them (I was really terribly nervous), Harry interrupted me:_ 'Mione, you–' 'Don't call me that!'_ said I. _'Mione…'_ I sighed deeply and turned to him violently. _'What?'_ He barely told, _'keep calm'_, and it was actually more reading on his lips than anything. _'Easily said,'_ I muttered, and then turned to face the men again. _'Would the two of you please_ stop_ beating about the bush, and tell me what's that about!'_ _'Don't get mad about that. It's just we can't open the box: only the Minister himself can…'_ I sighed, and said, hopelessly: _'That's not a joke, is it?'_ But, as I was going to sit and calm down, the said-Minister arrived from the fireplace in green flames. He was smiling awkwardly… I never had liked that man; and his speech during her burial. There was too much self-confidence and pride in him for me to bear him.

_'Sir,'_ said I first, plainly. _'Mrs,'_ answered he, who visibly was aware of my coldness towards him, before turning to the others, shaking hands (mostly Harry's who was fighting an urge to laugh), and smiling in a most unnatural way. _'So we're here for the sorting, aren't we!'_ His attempts to be jovial were really ridiculous, or at least that's all I remember of it: he seemed so artful that it made me think he was really incompetent. _'I assume so'_ I told him as coldly as I could. _'Could we… proceed?' 'Yes indeed,'_ he exclaimed, trying to face my chilliness with easiness and sympathy. With an overplayed expression of concentration and seriousness, he touched the box which opened: inside was an object very similar to the Goblet of Fire indeed. _'Here it is,'_ he said… _'But there's no surprise for you, is there?'_ I fought hard not to answer and just glared. I recall this thought that, if I were to be headmistress, my relationship with high officials wouldn't be good. _'So?'_ Just smiling, he took a piece of parchment from what I still think was nowhere, and put it right on the goblet, covering the surface of it. _'The name will be on there in just 2 minutes'_ said he.

After that, he sat on the headmaster's armchair, earning glares he didn't seem to see, and asked if anyone wanted tea. His impudence was absolutely unbearable, but I was in no power to tell him to leave. However, when he turned to me and said with a smile: _'Could you write your decision in a paper please, before we get the answer,'_ I thought, for a second, I'd murder him. _'Don't you have respect?' 'I do,'_ he said, _'and what I ask is just for you to fulfil your duty._' Really, at that moment, I hated it from my hair to my toes: how dared he just suppose I hadn't done what she'd asked me to do!

He was there, drinking a tea in little sips, obviously very happy with himself, and telling me I had about 1 minute, now, to do what he'd asked me to do. _'Couldn't you tell me I had to do it before? No! You were so unhappy about her choice and me being chosen that you tried to prevent me from doing my duty! And to say I'm working for you… never liked me a lot, hey?'_ I exclaimed with a dark look and, taking a piece of paper who was eventually on the desk, I wrote a couple of lines stating how my researches and her words leaded to my name… and after a second hesitation ran to Harry, Neville, and professor Flitwick so that they would sign as witnesses so that the paper had a possible official state. As I was to give it to him, I noticed a grin which displeased me even more than before, if that was humanly possible, and I barked at him: _'And don't you dare sitting here!'_ He just raised an elbow, and taking a sudden decision I cast a spell on the paper so that it couldn't be changed: I had no confidence in him. Not at all… I couldn't even understand how I'd been working for him, as a high member of the Ministry, for so long. I remember that idea that it was only because I barely saw him…

All this actually took more than two minutes… but no one had really noticed but the two colleagues who were staring at one another in wonder, not daring to touch the Official parchment on which a name that they tried to read had appeared. I was personally filled with anger about he who'd soon be my former employer, and for a moment I forgot about my nervousness and all; but when he finally seemed to remember and grinning said, _'Aren't you waiting for the answer?'_ I eventually felt helpless and nearly fell on the chair next to me.

It was the moment. The crucial moment… and I was feeling a mix up of sensations within my soul. There was impatience, of course; there was fear: fear that another name would come up, fear also that it'd be me; there was nervousness because of the rest; there was an impression of vagueness all around, as if I wasn't completely aware of what happened all around. With an extremely slow movement, he took hold of the said paper and looked at it: it showed something he didn't seem to expect. I'm even wondering if he wasn't hoping it'd be him (and that's why he looked so scornfully upon me): he was so self-confident and proud that it wouldn't even surprise me! After him, the two officials looked at him, and basically doing their job wrote on separate papers. No one bothered informing the 4 of us who were remaining silent: I would have asked, and willed nothing but doing so, if my throat hadn't been so dry and my voice dead. I couldn't produce a sound; I was but nervousness and, now, pure anxiety. When Harry asked, I thought I'd just embrace him as thanks… but I couldn't move either. _'So? Who is it?'_

I earned a dark look (but I was too nervous to even feel it) from the Minister before he dared informing me. _'You.'_ I swallowed hard, and I remember that Harry's sharp question sounded strange in my ears (even though it was very logical a question): _'"Who",_ _asks for a name!'_ The Minister smiled awkwardly and, looking at Harry with a hypocrite expression, pronounced my name, syllable after syllable, slowly.

There was a silence, in a statue-like lack of movement. The rest is all unclear in my head: I remember short scenes, but I can't remake the whole moment in my mind. I remember, as if it were yesterday, the evil and hostile grin on the Minister's face as he asked: _'I assume you take the job.'_ Just the way he asked would have convinced me to say yes, even if I hadn't taken the decision before. _'I do,'_ said I. With a scornful tone, he gave me a couple of pieces of parchments and said: _'Then sign here,_ headmistress_.' _Never had I heard that word being said so aggressively: it looked as if he was planning on killing me right now with the venin of his words. He also said that for one year I'd have to be assisted very closely by Neville because I had never taught… and when they all three finally left, I felt a lot better.

Of course, it was like if I was in another world, and everything was so unclear in my mind. I was headmistress. Officially, and soon it'd be known by the whole wizard world, I was headmistress of Hogwarts: suddenly, I remember my eyes widened as Harry gave me a hug and I murmured: _'Oh my God!'_ Next to me, Dumbledore's portrait's voice was heard saying something like: _'Congratulations, and welcome to a new world…' 'Kind of a strange world, isn't it?'_ I answered. The whole lot of them chuckled.

After this, we all dispersed but Harry told me he'd come home tonight and asked if I wanted to be picked at my room. I nodded, and he left. At that time I didn't wonder where he was going, but now I suspect he was going to meet friends and everything. As he left, he asked for my agreement to communicate my new function to a few persons: at first I frowned, but he said that anyway everyone would know it by the following day, and that maybe it'd be better to tell the people I knew at least a little before that. That made sense, and I confided in him: at last I nodded before entering my apartments. Too morally exhausted to notice at first, I just felt there was some kind of different something; and after a while I thought it was just the castle's magic (which was a quite strange feeling to tell truth). But, even though there was that indeed, it wasn't all. There was a something that didn't match with the room. Blinking, I looked all around me and suddenly it struck me: what was that portrait doing in my rooms? I open my eyes wide and stared at it in surprise.

_'Astonished, art thou not?'_ I stared again before managing an answer: _'Ah… yes.'_ The man had an awkward smile which I couldn't properly define: half-mocking and half-sincere. _'I don't want to look rude,'_ said I, _'but… who are you?'_ He had a little laugh before answering. _'That's not being rude: thou art just curious.'_ I nodded: I indeed was. _'Thou art the sole person capable of seeing me, because of the headmistress post.' 'Ha-hum,'_ murmured I. _'I am Godric Gryffindor.'_ I couldn't repress a little exclamation before thinking that he indeed looked very much like what I'd imagined that man like. _'The three others are in the background I think, but do not think about them: thy servant is here.'_ He did a kind of little curtsey and smiled. _'Thou art very capable, do not worry… thou art just different from her.'_ I nodded, still waiting for him to speak. _'I'm not the only one new here. Look in thy cupboard; do.'_

Unable to think properly, I did and opened said-cupboard. My eyes widened but yet I soon understood what these things were doing here: being at Hogwarts for what I had thought would be a month I hadn't brought so many clothes. These were partly hers. Hum… actually, some were hers indeed, and I didn't dare to touch them. There was also the electric-blue and oddly colourful dress Dumbledore had given her; and there was mine… Mine. I remember how strange it sounded. Slowly, I touched the material a little, and finally took hold of the hanger. It was long, and touched the floor when I lowered my arm, and it looked black but like shining. Which of course it wasn't… but I couldn't forget this impression I had. I don't know for how long I stared at it, gently stroking the material; but I was finally interrupted by the voice of Gryffindor. _'Was I thou, I shall try it.' 'Shall, sir?' 'Do name me Godric.' 'I don't think I will…' 'Oh yes thou will.'_ I nodded, because he appeared to be so self-confident. _'I'll try it on.' _

I cannot remember how it is that I put the large witchcraft dress on my jeans and tee-shit, nor than how I managed to get in front of a large and high mirror; but I remember the image that I had of my own self. I remember the first thing I thought was something like: is that me? True: how could this person I was facing be me? I looked taller and somewhat thinner, also more severe. It was odd, the effect that just that dress had on me. Yes, it suited me very well: the material stopped just before reaching the floor, and I felt at ease despite the weight of the cloak and its shape. There was just my hair, frizzy even though quite ordered, which looked strange: next to that plain but beautiful dark dress, it appeared like a crazy thing. My hair was somewhat foolish. I hesitated, and finally made a fast bun out of them: the picture in front of me was incredibly false. It wasn't me, not at all. I loosened them again, just taking a few of them out of my face: that seemed better.

I remember doing one step, and another, just… to see. But I couldn't move more, really, and again I stared at my image in the mirror. It was me, here, with that headmistress-dress. It was me… not her anymore. I shook my head and slowly touched the blue material of what had been her headmistress dress: it was delicate, very Dumbledore-like. I wondered how it'd have looked on her; but was interrupted again by the portrait's voice. _'She tried it once.'_ Brusquely, I turned to face it: _'Really?'_ He chuckled (and I can swear seeing Godric Gryffindor chuckling is a rather strange experience) and nodded solemnly: '_It suited her quite alright I think… But I admit it didn't match very well with the image one has of her.' _I nodded, and turned back to the mirror, once more nearly startled by what I looked like.

And, suddenly, I felt sad again, so sad because of her absence. I, wearing that dress, was the proof, the perfect and last proof of her death. Even more than her grave, or than anything else: it was as though here was her end. I glanced at the portrait that was looking intensely at me, and then back at the mirror; and a single tear left my eye to slide all my cheek long. Lost, lost… forever lost: that's what she was. She wouldn't be back; she wouldn't smile or take a stern look anymore. She wouldn't _be_ anymore. She was just a memory, and the recollections I had were made out of small pieces of remembrances. She was dead. Dead. And I was here with that witchcraft dress, and officially headmistress.

My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden burst of voice next to me, and I turned violently to face the intruder. Here was standing Harry with an impressed expression: _'You look wonderful, like… wow.'_ I found the will to joke a little, even though the tear was hanging still on my face: _'Like wow?'_ He recomposed himself and, with a little smile, explained his words: _'You have a kind of aura like this… Suits you great!' 'Thanks a lot. It's…'_ I swallowed my sadness._ 'She gave it; to me…'_ He nodded sympathetically and said why he was there: _'I said I'd pick you.'_ Without a word, I put the dress out and hang it before turning to face my friend who led me to the fireplace, and we flowed to my home.

When I landed (and I nearly fell on my knees), I found my drawing-room full! Harry smirked and, as I looked at him what might have appeared disapprovingly and was just wondering, he explained himself: _'It's just the couple of people I said I'd inform… Tonight, you can get drunk or anything without anyone caring: once your name following the title 'headmistress', I'm afraid we won't be able to celebrate properly and… in peace!'_ I smiled gently, and looked all around.

I remember he was there with Ginny, there was Neville, professors Flitwick, Sprout and Vector, and Aurora Sinistra was seating in a sofa, nearly crying each time she saw me (I still can't sort out why she was deeply touched, but it was moving). Ron's brothers and sisters with there husbands and wives were also here, just as Molly saying she was too old for such follies, but smiling anyway, (Arthur having died a couple of years before). There were a couple of other persons, but I'm not quite sure now. I just know Ron, next to me for the whole evening, whispered to my ear. _'We said no kids: I want to party with old people only!'_ I chuckled to this nonsense and kissed him.

For the time of an evening, I did forget about the nervousness on my shoulders and laughed, and had fun, and drunk quite a lot I'm afraid! I know that, in the morning, I woke up with a headache and not remembering how I had fallen asleep in my husbands' arms. But this was really nice: a celebration not too serious, but not too crazy.

The owl which woke me up, of course, wasn't so nice. It wasn't an aggressive owl, are anything… but I remember how both my headache and the clap of the bird's beak didn't match very well. I took the Newspaper with a tired movement, and thank Merlin for having paid in advance, before falling asleep again. When I woke up again, the headache having nearly disappeared, I found the newspaper lying next to the bed, on the floor. Taking it, I glanced at it.

_"NEW HEADMISTRESS OF HOGWARTS,_

_HERMIONE JANE GRANGER-WEASLEY!_

_Yesterday the name of the new headmistress of Hogwarts was sorted. Contrary to the habit, she's not deputy headmistress. In fact, said deputy, Neville Longbottom, wasn't fit for the job, his own words being: 'I am no headmaster in the depths of my soul.' This hasn't happened for years, but everything has been fulfilled and today a new era in Hogwarts' history is beginning. Will it be like professor McGonagall's, will it differ? Time will tell us._

_Portrait of our new headmistress, p. 4._

_Hogwarts' headmasters, p. 5."_

The picture was one of her grave, at the burial: they had had the decency to show her importance and make a kind of tribute. I frowned and looked at the clock: it was almost twelve… that's why Neville had had time to make a quote. After that, I looked at the said-pages to discover a short story of my life, mostly about Voldemort's defeat. It wasn't negative a bit, and I smiled seeing it was written by Skeeter's niece.

Ron woke up, and asked what it was. And, as I paused to give the paper to him, it struck me. Everyone knew it. I was headmistress. I was in Hogwarts history… I had that on my shoulder, and I had to do everything the best I could. Trying to follow her steps…

_So? How do you think?  
_


	17. But it has no end

_Hello!_

_Ok, so here is the very last chapter. It's the first fiction I finish, or nearly (well, first one with several chapters)... that sounds odd I hope you'll have altogether enjoyed your read!_

_Just tell me... well again the same leitmotiv, whether you liked it or not, etc. Anyway, that was a real pleasure to present this story, though I'm afraid it is far from perfect, and I do hope at least average! _

_Anyway, thanks! and I'm waiting on what you think!_

_Bergère._

_PS : first of all, the beta-reading seat is still available, just tell me! And something else: for those who, who knows, read it before, I'm sooooooo sorry I waited so long! I wasn't motivated, not sure it was worth anything, and I didn't have time. At least I finished it! Anyway, I apologize for this!_

**But it has no end**

Before finishing this story, there's one more event that I want to tell about. I think it's maybe the most important, the one I've been keeping in my mind forever since it happened, the one when I felt really completely overwhelmed. The day I saw her portrait was incredible. I knew it would happen, and I had tried to prepare myself for it… but of course, all preparation was useless: it had to be a shock. Ron had accompanied me back at Hogwarts the day after our little party, in the afternoon. I was incredibly nervous, and I felt my heartbeats in every part of my body, from my toes to my ears. My husband was holding my hand tight, and I could feel that he tried to comfort me. I was loathing seeing anyone else just now, and my steps were precipitating: I hoped that I could reach the entry of my new office before meeting someone in the corridors, especially someone I knew.

We stopped by the gargoyle, which just didn't open just now. Ron looked from me to the sculpture, and again, and again. And finally his hand let go of mine and he said in a whisper: _'I think you have to be alone just for this. Go and take me when you're done.'_ And before I could utter any protest, before I could even think of protesting, he was walking in the opposite direction. I remained alone, facing the gargoyle, and waiting for something, some sign I guess. But it didn't come. I pronounced the password I'd been giving before, and the large statue moved, showing the entrance of the stairs, but a voice, which I assimilated to the gargoyle, informed me that I should choose a new password. I stared stupidly for a while, and finally pronounced _'Minerva'_ in a murmur. An odd clicking sound informed me that it was registered, and I began walking upstairs, slowly at first, and then faster, faster and faster, until I nearly ran in the door.

It opened as I hit it, and the door made a huge banging noise when beating at the wall. Then, silence fell and I felt weird, standing insecure and unmoving, my eyes unconsciously looking for her painting. And my eyes fell on it; the portrait was the only sight I had, before I could even understand that I'd been looking for it.

Here she was. It wasn't a large painting, especially compared to some I'd seen in Hogwarts; but it wasn't ridiculously small either, and it was full of details. It made her look so incredibly true, alive. She was standing, despising a comfortable armchair that one could oversee in the background. Next to her, a cat was sitting on the floor, its marks around the eyes clearly showing it was embodying her animagus form. As for herself, she stood there, tall and impressive, draped in one of her large dresses, an emerald-coloured cloak on her thin but strong shoulders reaching the floor; and her usual inimitable hat was placed on her head. She appeared as an inaccessible figure, altogether very realistic though a daughter of imagination. Her face was just… so real. I can't describe it, because I simply couldn't look at it: my eyes met with hers, and I thought I'd faint, holding strongly a chair next to which I was standing, and feeling buried with shame and emotion.

_'Professor…'_ It's all I could manage when I finally was able to speak again. My throat was dry, my heart hurt in my chest, and I trembled. It was… I couldn't define it. I couldn't even understand what happened to me; but it happened, and I felt as touched as a teen in love. She did not answer, at least not at first. She looked at me intensely, her eyes getting more and more similar to the cat's; and I wondered whether I was dreaming or not, whether it was her, or a pure subterfuge. However, her expression softened, and I could see she was about to smile: _'Headmistress.'_

There was something commending, strong, in her voice; and I immediately felt guilty. _'Oh, I'm sorry, I just…'_ but I couldn't finish. I was interrupted_: 'I was speaking about you.'_ This time, her tone was harsher, more disapproving. I began feeling bad. I remember, I can even feel, how hard it was on me, how I tried to remain calm, not to get desperate. I remember tears in my eyes. Tears I didn't want. I couldn't remember the last time she'd talk to me so severely: all I knew was that it hurt; and all my questions were back. Maybe it had been a mistake to accept, maybe… maybe I was dreaming. Maybe it was a nightmare, and I was going to wake up soon! But my heart was beating so fast, and I could feel the wooden part of the chair hurting my skin and flesh as I hold it so tight. It couldn't be a real dream…

_'Sit, Hermione.'_ Without even thinking, I obeyed, glad that I could cease to concentrate on my shaking legs. I couldn't look at this portrait again, it hurt too much. I struggled with my memories, my daydreams and reality, and suddenly I was aware, so intensely aware, of the fact that she wasn't just some imagined someone. She was true. She'd been alive, and now she was but a portrait… but still herself. And all through this month, my memories and my thinking had led me to change her, to get a false, modified image of her self. And now, I was hit by reality, and I had to compose with it, to accept it again. She was straight, and I remembered the straightness; but I had erased the memory of her roughness, of her distant ways. I had only remembered the moments when she left part of her distance, and now I was taken aback by her usual self. _'You should stop thinking like this,'_ she said.

I breathed deeply, and I remember how huge the effort was to look at her again, to face the profound sight of her portrait's eyes. And I remember the emotion I felt when seeing the niceness there was in her eyes. It seemed her very eyes were telling me about splendid things, comforting me, giving me advices… It seemed everything was to be alright, just because she was there. Some other part of my heart, though, kept telling me about how I had been taking her place, how I was to erase her by assuming her role.

We didn't exchange any more word that day. I finally sat, and we stared at one another. I in deep emotions and trying to collect myself so as to be ready; her… I couldn't tell, even now. I guess she was looking at who she'd chosen to replace her. Maybe she wasn't quite satisfied, maybe she was, I couldn't tell. I felt like a real kid, and that wasn't agreeable: I should have acted mature, I thought, and right now I had done the very contrary. When, finally, I left the room to take Ron with me, I was back to some kind of calm, and it felt like she'd given it to me. Who knows, after all?

**.**

This might look like a biased end to some of you, not to say many. That may be, but life is as it is, and its course can't always be as breathtaking as an adventurous plot. However, if I may say a couple of last words before putting a final coma to this tale, I must say that I feel like I did earn some posthumous happy end. How so? Yes, I know, this may sound really strange. Let me just explain. I never had any kind of a real friendship or relationship – I'm not saying it in the… love story sense – while she was alive. She was my teacher, then former teacher. She was her mentor – though she didn't quite know it. And she was like an idol to me. I worshipped her and that to ridiculous extremes sometimes: my old self cannot fail to see this. Even now, I must admit I sometimes do fall into this odd sentimentalism. But who would reproach that to an old lady?

Anyway, as I said, I got some happy end anyway, and that because I finally could get something out of this feeling I kept in me for so many years. Not that I actually have had long plentiful conversation with her painted-self. Only… well, it feels like something was accomplished. And this is a kind of victory. She remains, and I guess she'll remain till I die, a very important figure to me. And the memories I have make my happiness. However, some sadness gets there. Not because she it dead anymore, and not because I never got that dream relationship I had in my head. No, it's forgetfulness. How awful to forget these words that I worship, this image of this face I admired.

**.**

How to end? How to chose the right words to express what I would like to conclude with? I am not sure. As headmistress, I could tell you that my deputy will soon take my sit, but that wouldn't quite make the end I want. No, I guess what I must tell is that I still admire her, and worship her, somehow. She still holds on that place in my heart, and I'm not even sure I could tell how and why. But here she is, and I shall not repent on it. Because, be it normal are not, this made a large part of what I am and what I was. I can only thank her. Let us quote to finish:

'A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops.' - _Henry Adams_


End file.
